


only exist to fall

by smallbeans



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Anxiety Attacks, Artist Harry Potter, Cruciatus, Deaf Harry, Dursley Family Dies (Harry Potter), Grief/Mourning, Harry Potter Never Went to Hogwarts, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Past Child Abuse, Teddy/Harry friendship, Telekinesis, Torture, Underage Smoking, in one ear not both
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2019-10-24 13:50:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 53,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17705438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallbeans/pseuds/smallbeans
Summary: When the Hogwarts letters go out in 1991, Harry Potter doesn't receive one. A year before, the Dursley family sent the child to an orphanage in London with a different name and a new identity. Growing up in London alone, Harry may escape the abuse of the Dursley's but he enters a world of neglect and handwork. When he's 13, he befriends a blue haired boy called Teddy, whom over the years becomes the closest of friends Harry could have asked for.At 16, Harry is getting on with his life just fine. He's got two jobs, college, a great group of friends and an endless supply of cigarettes to keep his hands from uncontrollably shaking. And then, Teddy's parents announce they're coming down for the week and suddenly Harry has people coming up to him saying he's supposed to be dead and that a Dark Lord is after him.





	1. sunday

**Author's Note:**

> i shouldn't be posting another story when i have two wip's that i haven't updated in like a month, but i just get so excited about this story and the draft is about to run out so screw it i'm posting :) 
> 
> i've made a mood board too because i just love them so much and teddy and harry are so aesthetically pleasing so THERE YA GO <3
> 
> enjoy :*

 

****1

Harry Potter doesn’t go to Hogwarts when he’s 11. The Boy Who Lived is declared dead four months before letters are sent out when a house fire destroys the home and the lives in it. Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley all perish, and it is assumed so does the helpless Harry Potter. The wizarding world is thrown into peril, their saviour gone forever. But the truth is, Harry wasn’t gone.

A year before, when the Potter child was 10 years old, the Dursley family shed the burden of their nephew by sending him, abused and battered, to an orphanage home in London run by Sylvia Augustus, possibly one of the most non-paternal beings whom has walked the Earth. The true identity of Harry Potter was ceased when Petunia insisted they changed his name to Harry Evans, the woman certain the _freaks_ would be able to find out what they’d done had the boy kept the famous name.

Harry grew up in less violent conditions but no more comforting. The orphanage was dingy and dark, and Harry was teased for years by the angry older children for his height and glasses. Harry was pushed around like a rag doll, forced to do all the older children’s chores for years because they didn’t want to do them, and out of fear of being punished like he was in the Dursley home, Harry did them without a fight. Kids from the orphanage came and went, but Harry was one of the only ones who stayed.

But there was always something peculiar about the abused, orphaned Harry Evans - more peculiar than his John Lennon round glasses and his obsessive love for books. Harry can’t remember when it started exactly, but for as long as he can remember, he’s always been able to do strange things. From his hair growing over night to his glasses cracking on his face when he got angry, things have always happened around Harry and no one has ever been able to explain them. The worst one was when Harry was almost 13 and he’d read in an out-of-date newspaper from the library about a house fire in Privet Drive, Surrey, perishing a family of three. Harry had been so shocked, angry and scared that he’d set alight the wardrobe in his bedroom. The wooden block had burst into a glory of orange flames, almost burning the whole room apart. It had taken three of the older children to put it out and the fire brigade had been called. The room was in ruins, the walls and ceiling stained with black soot, the wardrobe a circus of burnt skeletal wood and ash. Harry had been given his worse punishment he’s ever had in the home: bleaching all of the floors in the home. He’d burnt his hands and knees, the skin red and raw and bloody when he’d finished. He missed four days of school when Sylvia made him do it, and it was only his abnormal, strange abilities that had enabled his hands to heal enough over night that they simply looked like they’d been scraped and skimmed from a fall.

As he gets older, Harry’s ability grows behind closed doors. He doesn’t know what it is, but he slowly begins to discover what he is capable of. He practices in his room, wishing for things across the room to come to him, imagining them moving into his hand and marvelling when they do. It’s his little secret, his thing that is _his_ and something he doesn’t have to share. There isn’t a lot in the home that is personal, but this was finally something Harry had to himself.

Harry attends public school in London, and the biggest difference from the schools in Surrey is the lack of Dudley and his gang. For the first time in his life, Harry makes _friends_. From his time with Dudley and his buddies and the kids at the home, Harry never understood what it was like to have relationships with kids his own age.

When he’s 13, Harry meets Teddy, whose real name is actually Edward but has gone by 'Teddy' since he was a child. Teddy is new to the school when Harry first meets him, and the pair hit it off the moment Mrs Tomsett sits them together in English class. When Harry found out Teddy lives with his grandfather, Harry felt somewhat of a connection between them from their similarity in their lack of parents. While Teddy’s were alive, he didn’t actually live with them anymore.

Their friendship is sealed five months after Teddy moves to the school when one lunchtime the pair are sitting on the field alone under a large tree when Teddy sneezes suddenly and his nose is replaced with a pigs. Harry had screamed, falling back on the grass is surprise. Teddy had blushed so red he matched the maroon jumper he was wearing. He switched back a moment later, but the damage was done and Harry had seen. Out of guilt, to make Teddy feel better, Harry had made the juice in Teddy’s bottle bubble. With the pairs biggest secrets revealed, Harry had never felt closer to someone.

As he grows, Harry becomes more in-tuned with his abilities, discovering more and learning how to control them. There’s little to no outbursts by the time he’s 16.

 

It’s a Sunday in October 1996 when Harry is at the pub in South London that he’d been working at since the beginning of August. Sylvia demands the children of the orphanage to have jobs when they turn 16 to contribute to bills and pay for all their own expenses, hence why three days after his 16th birthday Harry got a job at a local library and then a pub owned by a school friend whose father hired him despite him being underage out of a favour.

It’s the small hours of the morning, the shift coming to an end as Justin speaks to the last stragglers to leave at the door - the regulars who know how to push the closing time back one minute at a time. The lights have been turned on fully, illuminating the faded boarded floor. Harry stands at the bar, towel drying the freshly clean glasses out of the dishwasher. A small radio plays in the corner, currently blasting out Ini Kamoze's _Here Comes the Hotstepper_ out of its tiny, tin speakers.

Justin shouts goodbye to the customers before he’s closing the pub door firmly and locking it. He turns back to the room and heads towards the bar, rolling his eyes when Harry looks at him.

"Those bloody blokes," he swears, picking up a few glasses left on a table in the corner. "They sure damn do push their luck. Thought they were never going to leave!"

Harry snickers and takes the glasses, putting them in the dishwasher to run. "Saturday night wouldn’t be the same if they didn’t come in."

"True," Justin muses, leaning on his palms against the bar. "I swear when they come in we close later and later each week. It’s almost one in the morning, despite the fact that the pub closes officially at 12am every night. "It’s gonna be a late one, kid. Do you need to dash off or. . .?"

"It’s fine," Harry shakes his head, smiling. "Tubes go all night."

Justin reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. "Thank you, lad. You’re a champ. We should be out by half past if we work fast. I’m going to take the rubbish out, could you start on cleaning the tables?"

"Sure."

Harry finishes wiping the last of the glasses and puts the dishwasher on clean before he grabs a fresh damp cloth and sets about wiping down the tables that are sticky with spilled alcohol. As he goes, he puts the chairs on the tables he’s finished cleaning in preparation for the sweeping and moping. He bops and hums to the song on the radio playing: Curtis Mayfield’s _Move On Up_. With all the tables wiped down and clean, Harry tosses the dirty rag into sink over the bar and grabs the mop and bucket from the cupboard.

Justin comes back in, cursing about the cold.

"Ah," he says, going to the till, "Good idea. I bloody hate moping."

"I know, that’s why _I’m_ doing it," Harry teases.

"You little cheek," Justin replies, but he’s smiling.

It takes five minutes to mop the span of floor - Harry has always been a pro at cleaning since he did it for the Dursley’s and the children’s home. He wrings out the dirty mop before flushing the used water and putting it back in the cupboard.

Justin is cashing up the till, counting the coins and writing them down in the book as he does religiously every night. Harry shoves the dirty tea-towels and wash cloths into a plastic bag after he’s wiped down the bar for the final time so Justin can take them home to wash.

"Here," Justin says, handing Harry a sealed white envelope. "Sorry it’s late again, kiddo. I’ve put some extra in there for the inconvenience."

"You didn’t have to do that," Harry replies.

"I know how much that witch barrels you for rent and such, buddy, so don’t fake it to me. Take the extra and buy yourself something nice, like some food or something."

Harry chuckles and pockets the envelope. "Thanks, Justin."

"No more bloody books, you don’t need anymore."

"Ah, Justin, that is where you are wrong my uneducated friend," Harry drawls, jumping up and sitting on the bar. "For you can _never_ have too many books."

Justin rolls his eyes. "Unfortunately, I know my wife would agree with you on that one."

"How is Eva?" Harry asks. "Derek said she’s had the flu."

"She’s fine now. It’s winter, there’s some awful things going around at the moment," Justin replies, smiling. "I’ll tell her you asked, she’ll appreciate it. Now, get your scrawny ass off my bar and get going. It’s almost one-thirty."

Harry smiles exaggeratedly sweet and hops off the bar. He grabs his rucksack that has his skateboard stuffed inside, one lip of it sticking out the top, and his coat from outback. He shrugs it on over his hoodie - its an old ragged thing he’d got from a charity shop a few years ago, the sleeves frayed and the brown canvas fabric faded and aged, but Harry loves it and despite the fur inside worn thin and almost non existent, it still warms him in the cold October winds.

"Thanks for this evening, lad," Justin says when he comes back out. "You were a life saviour for starting early, trust Maeve to phone in sick again. I don’t know what I’m going to do with that girl."

Harry chuckles and pulls his rucksack onto his back.

"Have a good week," he says, heading for the door. "I’ll see you Thursday, yeah?"

Justin nods. "See you, kid. Stay safe."

"You too. Adios, amigo!"

Justin salutes with one hand, "Bon voyage, muchacho!"

Justin's laugh follows Harry as he steps out into the cold October wind. The pub is in Kings Cross, so Harry pulls his skateboard out of his bag. He rolls along the empty, dark pavements, pulling out his box of straights and placing one between his lips. He uses the tip of his finger, willing it to ignite the end of the cigarette and it does so with a crackle and a glow of orange. He inhales the nicotine and smoke greedily, feeling the beginnings of the tremors in his hands cease almost immediately.

He looks at his watch: **1:35** AM. In just under seven hours Teddy will be getting home from visiting his parents in Surrey, the teen having been down there for a week. Harry has missed him like he would have missed a limb.

He gets to the underground station within minutes. With the pavements being empty of people and the roads empty of cars, Harry has been able to speed on the tarmac and get to the station twice as fast.

It takes four minutes to get from Kings Cross to Oxford Circus where Harry switches onto another tube line towards Kensington. He sits on the empty carriage, reading his beaten up paperback of _The Catcher in the Rye_ by J. D Salinger. The train journey takes half an hour, and as Harry sways with the carriage, he ends up spending the last 10 minutes doodling in the inside front cover of the book with a pencil so old and used it’s the length size of his finger. Drawing on the inside covers of books is a habit Harry started doing years ago when he got bored and didn’t have any paper. It’s something he’s become accustomed to do when his mind can congest anymore story and words. This particular book has been read so many times not only are the pages falling out of the spine but the covers are almost completely filled with pencil and pen scribbles. He sits alone, the rumble and scream of the train the only thing he hears as he roughly sketches a fox in he corner of the cover and smokes another cigarette, not even taking it from his lips as he breathes out the smoke through his nose with practice.

There is an underground stop by the home, so Harry gets off at the closest one and climbs the steps to the city streets. He skates the last stretch to the home, the chilly air nipping at his skin. The wind has drastically dropped since he got on the train in Kings Cross half an hour before so the air is still and cold, silent and eerie, but Harry isn't fazed - this is his normal routine for Thursday to Saturdays when he does shifts at the bar.

It's gone two in the morning when Harry reaches _Augustus London Children's Home_. Out of nonchalant bitterness, Harry stubs out his cigarette on the house wall, grinding the ash and tobacco flakes along the brickwork.

Inside, Harry re-locks the front door with practiced skill. Harry has been deaf in his right ear since he was seven when an ear infection went untreated. By the time he’d managed to convince his school teacher of how much pain he was in and taken to the school nurse, Harry’s hearing was completely gone and impair-able in that ear, and it has been ever since. His other ear is fine, and most of the time he continues as if he had both ears working. But, it often shows it’s colours when he’s in loud places, or when he accidentally lays on his right side and no one can get ahold of him without touching him. Despite this, Harry has mastered the art of sneaking in without making a single sound, even as he leaps up the wooden, rickety stairs, moving through the house as silent as a mouse.

He dashes into his bedroom, closing the door with the quietest of clicks. The room he was given when he came six years ago looks almost exactly the same: small, empty and plain. The only difference is that there is sheets of paper taped to the wall by the bed and piles and piles of books stacked on the floor. Harry is a very clean person, and also a very private one. He learnt very quickly after moving to the home that nothing is truly yours and nothing can be kept personal in the home. He didn't come with many belongings anyways, not even a weeks worth of clothes - or more specifically, _rags_ that Dudley had grown out of.

Harry tosses his rucksack on the floor and lays the skateboard on the desk. He crosses the room in a few steps and pulls the curtains that he'd forgotten to open that morning. It's late enough that the streetlight outside his bedroom has turned off, leaving his room glowing only the large, white moon in the sky above.

Harry looks up at the white orb, and can't help but strangely think that Teddy could be looking at the exact moon out the coach window in that very moment.

He flops down on the bed, the frame creaking from the aged, cheap wood it’s made of. He lays in his jeans and jumper still, one arm folded behind his head and the other held up, his palm facing the ceiling. In the next moment, a flame is flickering from Harry’s hand, the skin blue as if it’s been dosed in gasoline. It ignites the dark room instantly, colouring the walls a soft, bright orange. The furniture and curl of Harry’s fingers beside the flame cast dancing shadows on the walls and ceiling.

Harry doesn’t realise how long he is staring at the stuttering flame on his hand until suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. A moment later, it opens and Stan pokes his head in.

"You better get up," he says, "otherwise Sylvia will maim you when she does."

Stan is a year older than Harry, making him the oldest kid in the home, despite him arriving in the home two years after Harry. The pair are the oldest kids at the home, the rest being at least five years younger than them. Stan had instantly attached himself to Harry when the older kids had shoved him around some, the pair finding comfort in their similarities. Harry never spoke about the conditions he lived in at the Dursley's, but he recognised things in the way Stan acted in the same way Stan recognised them in him. Signs of abuse are clear in the eyes of those who have been on the receiving end. Harry had taught Stan how to survive in the house, what to do to stay out of trouble and to keep the younger kids out of trouble too.

"I'm up," Harry murmurs, climbing off the bed.

Stan looks at the jeans and jumper that he is still wearing. "Have you even slept?"

"Of course."

Stan raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Take a wild guess."

The older boy rolls his eyes. "It's not healthy, y'know, not sleeping. It can really harm your body, not just now but--"

"But long term too. Heart disease is a growing problem!" Harry finishes, flashing a shit-eating grin as he grabs a pair of clean jeans from his closest. "I know, Stan. You only tell me every morning."

"Yeah, well, if you slept some maybe I wouldn't have to remind you," Stan scolds, watching Harry move around the room. When Harry stands straight, he looks at him. "You look like shit, by the way."

"Thanks, I'm aiming to be on your level by the end of the week."

Stan rolls his eyes again before he disappears from the doorway. Harry dashes into the bathroom and splashes some cold water on his face. He looks up into the mirror. Harry has always been thin, and his permanent sleep-deprivation has made the bags beneath his eyes look like bruises, but people are so used to them now they're natural. People expect him to have tired eyes as they expect him to have a birds-nest of hair on his head. They'd be worried if it was any other way.

He showers in record time, washing off the bar from the night before off his skin. He dresses in his black skinnies with a tear in the knee from years ago and acosy jumper. He grabs his skateboard and rucksack before heading out of the bedroom.

Downstairs, he finds Stan by the stove, trying to crack an egg on the side of a pan. Harry leaps forward and grabs his wrist.

Stan wordlessly moves away - while he has the best intentions, Stan couldn't cook if his life depended on it, so Harry always take the cooking duties under his belt. If it's anything more than toast or soup, Stan can't do it.

"Is Teddy coming back today?" Stan asks as he fills the toaster with bread and slams the bar down.

"Yeah. He got back this morning."

"Does that mean you're going to stop moping around now like a kicked puppy?"

Harry flips him off and ducks when he reaches to cuff him.

Harry cooks enough eggs and sausages to feed an army. He trusts Stan with the toast and cutting some of the fruit while he stacks the sausages on a platter and grabs the juices from the fridge. He's setting down the cartons in the middle of the table when, as if a get opened at the zoo, the kids come pouring in.

One of them runs straight into Stan, almost knocking the plate of apples out of his hands. He holds it above their heads as he bellows, "Oi, watch where you're going, Rugrat."

"Sorry!"

He sends Harry an exaggerated exasperated expression as he puts the plate on the table. Harry chuckles and goes back to the sausages.

The kids are loud and boisterous, but breakfast is the only time they can be because Sylvia isn't there. For a woman so observant, she sleeps like the dead until 8:30 every morning, so the kids tend to get their energy out over breakfast so they can behave enough during the day.

Harry sets down the plate of sausages as Stan sits down next to one of the youngest, piling food onto his own plate. Harry grabs his rucksack from the floor and shrugs it on after his jacket.

He looks at Stan, "Will you be alright cleaning up?"

Stan nods. "It's cool, I've got my slaves to help me."

Harry knows he's talking about the children, and that he's joking.

He grins, grabbing a slice of toast and taking a large bite. "Cool. See you later!"

"Don't get yourself killed and say hi to Teddy for me!"

"Will do both!"

Harry runs out and slams the door behind him. He takes another couple of bites of the golden toast before he tosses the rest in an overflowing bin that hasn't been emptied for months. He grabs his skateboard from his bag and leaps on just as it touches the pavement floor. He skates to the station and gets the underground to Islington.

Living in London has made Harry somewhat of a city kid. He prefers it to Surrey, where the town was small and boring, where everyone knows everyone. In a city like London, it exciting and new, and you rarely see the same stranger twice.

Back on the pavements of Islington, Harry skates a little further, his heart already racing with excitement. When he gets to Teddy's road, he skates faster. He checks his watch: 9:14 and knows that Teddy's grandfather would have already left for work at the bank, so he doesn't hesitate to leap up the white stones steps and pounds loudly on the door. He shouts, pounding his fist again and again and again like a child.

The door opens wide a moment later and Harry doesn't hesitate, the moment he sees the flash of bright blue hair he's leaping and tackling Teddy in a bear hug.

"Teddy-cake!" Harry shouts.

Teddy is taller than Harry and built with more muscle instead of bone, so he catches Harry with little stumble and hugs him back just as tight. He spins Harry around like a romantic film moment, his height preventing Harry's feet from touching the ground.

"Harry-kins," Teddy replies, "I'll take it you've missed me."

Harry jumps down, brushing his hair off his forehead. "Not at all. What gave you that impression?"

Teddy flicks him on the forehead and Harry gasps.

He flicks him back.

"Ouch!"

"Of course I missed you, you big oaf."

Teddy rolls his eyes. "Everyone is big compared to you."

"Harsh."

"But true!"

Harry grumbles and picks up his skateboard from the floor, closing front door behind him. "Oh, shut up and put the damn kettle on!"

"Yes, mum," Teddy replies, heading into the kitchen.

"And don't sass me either, Mister, or you'll get 20 spanks and no dinner!"

Teddy's laugh is loud and roars through the wooden-floored home. Harry follows him into the kitchen diner and climbs onto one of the bar stools while Teddy flicks the kettle on and grabs two mugs.

"So, how was Surrey?" Harry asks, eating a grape from the fruit bowl on the side.

Teddy shrugs one shoulder. "It was alright. No matter how often I go I'll never get used to the quietness of a town. My parents are good, though."

"That's good," Harry nods, taking another grape. "You're mum's hair still pink?"

Teddy nods. "Like bubblegum."

"Mad. Still, at least it makes your neon blue hair not look so outrageous."

"Fuck off," Teddy laughs. "My blue hair is my best feature, beats your birds-nest any day."

"My birds-nest is original."

"It's a _mess_ ," Teddy corrects, handing him a steaming mug of black coffee. "Hey, y'don't have a ciggy I can have, do you? Haven't been able to have one for the last week and I'm actually going to chew a finger off if I don't have one soon."

Harry laughs at the statement and fishes out his cardboard box from his coat pocket. With practice, he pulls out two straights and grabs his lighter from the other pocket.

Teddy snatches one and the lighter with desperation and lights it before it even reaches his lips. He scurries to the kitchen window and opens it wide, exhaling the smoke with a moan.

"Yes. Yes, that's the stuff."

"Jesus, don't orgasm too hard, might break your last braincell," Harry says, lighting his own with the tip of his finger. He exhales, feeling the familiar buzz of a first morning cigarette. He looks at Teddy, half hanging out the kitchen window. "You're such an idiot. And give me back my damn lighter, you buffoon!"

Teddy tosses it over his shoulder and stands straight, keeping his hand out the window.

"You know my grandad doesn't like us smoking in the house."

Harry rolls his eyes but Teddy knows he's not being an ass, Harry loves Teddy's grandad, Edward, as much as his own family. The amount of times Ed has given Harry a place to crash for days on end when he was just too mentally exhausted to withstand Sylvia or the home. Edward is the closest thing Harry has ever had to a father.

Harry opens the french doors in the dining room out onto the garden decking. He sits on the steps and takes a drag and Teddy comes over and sits beside him.

"My parents want to come down here in a couple of weekends to see me," Teddy says, looking out over the garden.

Harry's head turns to him, eyebrows raised. He's surprised: in all the years he's known Teddy and Edward, Teddy's parents have never come to London. It's strange, and Harry has never understood why but Teddy has never had the guts to ask anyone why it's the way it is, so Harry hadn't pressed either.

"How'd you feel about that?" Harry asks, draining the still scalding-hot mug of coffee.

Teddy shrugs one shoulder. "I don't know. They've. . . they've never really shown interest in coming here and now they're just. . . coming. I mean, it's not even for a special occasion."

"Is that really the problem, that they don't have a special reason to come here?"

"No. No, it. . . I don't even know. I don't even know what's wrong. It just feels weird, it feels wrong for them to be _here_."

"I'm sure they'll be able to deal with the home you live in, you high-class ponce," Harry teases.

Teddy raises an eyebrow. "High-class what?"

"A p—"

Harry is cut off by Teddy grabbing him by the shoulders and dragging him to the floor. He yelps in surprise, almost dropping his cigarette as Teddy wrestles him on the ground.

"A what?" He shouts, laughing. "What did you call me?"

"A— ow! A ponce— Te-Teddy, shit! Stop! N-no tickling! Stop-p!"

Harry withers and thrashes on the floor as Teddy attacks his ribs with wiggling fingers, turning him to a screaming fit of hysterics.

"S-sto-op!"

"What's the magic work?"

"P-p! Ah! P-piss off!"

"Na-uh," Teddy sings.

"Oh, fuck! P-please! Please! Stop-p!"

Teddy stops as once, sitting back on his heels and looking down at the boneless puddle that is his breathless best friend on the floor.

Harry looks up at him. "You're a monster."

Teddy winks. "Raw."

 

They leave with Teddy's arm around Harry's shoulder and a skip in their strides. Harry never has to wonder why people think Teddy is Harry's older sibling, despite the blue-haired teen being only a few months older than Harry, his towering height and broad shoulders add to his age while Harry's shortness, messy child-like hair and thin limbs make him look more 14 than 16. While Teddy could easily get served in a shop for alcohol Harry would be like if he could buy a parental guardian movie.

They head to a skatepark in Lambeth, where their school group hangs out daily despite having finished school a few months before.

They don't do much apart from slump on one of the outside ramps, lounged around. They smoke and talk, watch the skaters and bikers and often have goes themselves. It's out of the local city attractions, half underground on the rivers edge. Every inch of the wall is covered in some kind of graffiti in every colour under the sun.

Harry spends ages trying to teach Stevie how to roll cigarettes, but her clumsy fingers can't get the hang of it and the thing ends in hysterics when she licks the paper and ends up licking up half the tobacco.

"Shit," she whines, coughing and chucking down the ruined, crumpled paper and filter. "Screw that."

Teddy is still howling with laughter and Harry and Derek are close to tears.

Stevie glares at them all. "You're such a bunch of asses."

"That was an appalling attempt at rolling," Derek laughs.

Stevie flips him off before grabbing his hand and yanking him up. "Come on. I want chips."

Derek rolls his eyes but gets up with her anyways. As they walk off Harry lays down with his head in Teddy's lap and looks up at the blue-haired teen.

"Want a rollie?"

"Only if you do a better job than Stevie."

Harry grins. Stevie and Derek are a duo in the group that switch from having the relationship of bickering siblings to non-romantic lovers within seconds. There's absolutely no chemistry, with Stevie's rock-band grunge look and Derek's well-kept private school upbringing, it's a wonder they get along at all.Stevie is loud and rude, with a wickedly dark sense of humour to match her black clothes and dark makeup. She was brought up in Harlesden, a few blocks from Harry on the similar gritty streets, in a large family with a single parent and a tight income. Derek, on the other hand, was raised in Kensington, in a clean, large semi-detached house. He dresses like he could either be going to a business meeting or a English lecture, with his buttoned collars and pea-coat jacket. He's an only child, and his parents spoil him like the sun shines out of his ass.

Harry rolls two perfect hand-made cigarettes and they both smoke them by the time Stevie and Derek are back with two large portions of chips.

"Look who we found!" Stevie shouts, and Harry instantly spots Shaun behind them.

Shaun is like Teddy - middle ground. They're neither poor nor rich, tramp nor posh. They grew up in normal homes with semi-normal families. They didn't have a lot, but they had food in the cupboards everyday and clean clothes to wear to school.

Hey, Teddy-cake and Harry-kins," he greets, dropping down in the circle and crossing his legs. Stevie and Derek set down the chips and Stevie instantly drowns one of them in tomato ketchup.

Through a mouthful of chips, Shaun adds, "How was your folks, Teddy?"

"They're good," Teddy nods. "Same old, same old."

"Where's Kyle?"

All eyes fall to Harry, who'd gotten his paperback book from his back pocket and had been reading while munching on chips. He lowers his book and looks at them all.

"He's got a new girl friend, so he's most likely with her," Harry replies.

"Ooo!" Stevie coos, "Do you know her name?"

"No, he just told me a few days ago when I was at his that he'd been seeing this girl," Harry explains. "She's not from London, though."

"I wonder what you were doing at his," Shaun teases, and Harry tosses a chip at him, hitting him in the eye and causing him to cry out.

"I've been shot!" He wails, falling backwards and almost knocking Stevie over, clutching his face.

Harry lays back down on Teddy's lap, the latter playing with his hair unconsciously. While the group talk, Harry loses himself once again in his book.

 

They disband at dinner time. Everyone goes home as the sun has already begun to set across the city skyline, everyone apart from Harry and Teddy, whomstays out with Harry as he isn't ready to go back to the orphanage.

Like most evenings, the pair walk around London, one of them sometimes skating on Harry's board while the other walks beside it. Teddy drags Harry into one of the back-street record stores. He flicks through records, and Harry stands beside him, gnawing on his thumb nail.

His eyes catch a record and he still’s Teddy’s hand. He pulls it out.

"This," he says, "is the best piano score to date."

Teddy takes it, looking at the cover quizzically. "Who is Ahmad Jamal?"

"A legendary pianist," Harry answers.

"Of course you’d give me a piano score," Teddy laughs, ruffling Harry’s hair, "You little piano prodigy."

"Piss off."

"I bet you couldn’t play piano like. . ." he reads the name with squinted eyes, "Ahmad Jamal."

"Not in my wildest dreams," Harry agrees.

Harry has played piano since he was 11 when he started secondary school and in his first music lesson, fell in-love with the feeling of the keys beneath his fingertips. His music teacher at the time, Mr Gent, had given Harry lessons every week and run to the music room for an hour after school whenever he wished. He said Harry had a natural 'nack' for playing, and his long, slender fingers giving him an advantage to dancing on the keys. It was Mr Gent who pushed Harry to pursue music in college.

They wander around for as long as they can, but when it gets to eight o’clock, Teddy has to go home before Edward starts to worry. Harry walks him to the tube station before he takes his own long, slow and leisure walk home. It’s dark and the temperature drops so rapidly Harry is shivering before he knows it and his hands are so cold he doesn’t even risk or attempt bringing them out of his pockets to smoke a cigarette.

When Harry gets in, it’s almost 11. He goes inside slowly, quiet like he was the night before. His stomach growls so he goes into the kitchen in search for something small to grab, when he finds Stan sitting at the table.

Harry slumps against the doorframe. "Hey."

Stan smiles at him, "Hey, kiddo."

Harry rolls his eyes. "You know I hate it when you do that. We’re only 11 months apart."

"Deal with it, _kiddo_ ," Stan replies. He looks at the clock on the wall. "I’m surprised, I thought I’d be waiting till well after midnight to scold you for being out so late on a school night."

"Jesus, _mum_ , you never normally wait up," Harry frowns. "What’s the difference tonight?"

"There’s been a terrorist attack a couple of towns over," Stan replies. "It was on the news today. Was just checking you were okay."

Harry grins cheekily. "Aw, be careful, Stan. Or I might start thinking you care."

"What a disaster that will be," Stan sighs, standing up.

"Hey, seriously though, thanks for handling dinner. I’ll do the dishes to make up for it."

Stan smiles, "Why do you think I left them?"

"You’re such an asshole," Harry scoffs.

Stan points to the fridge, "I left a plate in there for you. You should eat it before you waste away."

Harry flips him off, but doesn’t duck in time to avoid the cuff to the back of the head.

After he’s done the dishes and scoffed down the small plate of food, he goes upstairs and collapses into bed. The lack of sleep and days events catch up to him and he’s asleep before he even has time to open his book.

 

_— tbc._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise there will be plot in the next chapter, this is just giving you a taster of my harry and teddy. hope you enjoyed! x


	2. alley cats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise the plot will start soon. also, there are a lot of original characters in this but none of them play huge parts. it's only because I needed to give harry a life with muggles.

2

The underground tube rattles and sways as it juts sharply around a bend. The standing passengers groan and some stumble, their legs barely staying balanced.

Harry is standing, having been one of the first on and managed to snag a seat but gave it up after a few stops to let an old lady he often passes on the train every morning to sit down. He's got his book (he's now reading _The Body_ by Stephen King - which he picked up after watching the film adaptation _Stand By Me_ ) in his hands, his focus directed at the printed pages, unaware to those around him.

He gets this route every morning, a tube train to East London, packed with other commuters going to work or school. There’s always the odd hungover person who sits with their head down, hood up, hunched like a old man and groaning aloud about the mistakes they made the night before. There’s always the business people, with their briefcases or tote bags full of folders and documents, suits and blazers and an attitude as if because they earn a decent wage, they deserve to be first on and off. There’s always the school kids, thinking their cool because they don’t ride with their parents anymore, their uniform raining on their parade of 'street cred'. There's always the working class people, dressed in their retail store uniform, looking like they've just rolled out of bed and would rather be anywhere but on a overcrowded London tube. There's always the old souls, taking up the seats, either smiling at random people or glaring at them when they have to invade their personal space.

And then there’s Harry; thin as a twig, birds nest for hair, pale as snow and dressed like a classy goth with a battered second-hand book in his finger-less gloved-covered hands and a skateboard poking out of his rucksack. He tunes out the conversations around him, using his hair as a shielded hood to block everyone and everything out. He makes the journey so often Harry can do it with his eyes closed.

Half way to college, the tube rolls to a specific stop and Harry looks up just as Teddy hops onto the carriage. The blue haired teen grins at Harry as he comes to stand in front of him, leaning against the opposite pole. Teddy dresses like mix between an old man and a distressed teenager, with torn light blue jeans and the same dirty white trainers he wears every other day, and then a buttoned up checkered shirt underneath a thick wool cardigan. He has his jacket wrapped around his waist, despite it being October, but Teddy is never, _ever_ , cold.

"Good morning, Harrykins," Teddy greets, reclining back. He always looks so chilled out, so comfy in his big cardigans and worn jeans.

Harry shoves his book into the back pocket of his jeans. "Morning, Teddycake. How are we this fine Monday?"

"Well, I never got that essay finished about human anatomy that is due in today."

Harry smirks - he knows where this is going. "And why was that?"

Teddy looks down at his hands sheepishly, barely able to keep the smug smile off his face. "I may or may not have been talking to Rosie."

"Rosie? As in _the_ Rosie? Rosie Lockson? Harry’s eyes widen, his agape mouth turning up with a smug smile. "The pretty little blonde in your PE class?"

Teddy’s cheeks are glowing ruby red with blush.

Harry barks a loud laugh, loud enough that a few people turn their heads and look at him in annoyance. "No fucking way," he breathes. "You little kinky shit!"

"Hey!" Teddy yelps. "She seems super interested, and she’s really nice and all. . ."

"I feel a 'but' coming," Harry muses, watching Teddy’s face change.

" _But_ , I just. . . I’m not into her like that. She’s great to flirt with and talk to, but I don’t feel anything _deep_."

"Oh, man, what a struggle, you don’t feel balls deep for a girl who’ll happily jump into bed with you?"

Teddy rolls his eyes. "Shut up. You’re starting to sound like Kyle."

Harry laughs again. "Seriously, though. If she’s in it for the pillow talk then go for it - it’s been a while since you’ve had any party-time in bed."

Teddy rolls his eyes again, kicking his leg up to hit Harry in the knee, and when Harry gasps, he chuckles, "Pussy. Hey, speaking of pillow talk, spoken to Kyle recently? Feels like it’s been ages since I saw him."

"It’s only been a few weeks, but yeah, I saw him last night when I was round his."

Teddy raises an eyebrow that is a clear nonverbal question of _why were you round his if he has a girl friend?_

"Him and his lady friend broke up. It was pretty bad, considering they’d only been together for about two weeks."

"Huh," Teddy’s smirks, "and you made him better, didn’t you?"

Harry mirrors his smirk and winks, making Teddy burst a string of laughter. The tube pulls into their station and they climb off in the sea of other passengers pushing and rushing to get out onto the busy, hectic London streets.

Harry gets out his cigarettes and offers one to Teddy.

"Hey!" He gasps at the full box, plucking one with his black-painted nailed hand. "You got more! Just two days ago you were on the phone whining that you hadn’t been able to get some off Adam."

Adam is a guy who used to live at the orphanage with Harry but moved out when he turned 18. He was one of the only kids in the home who helped Harry when he first got to the home, showed him the ropes for survival and is probably the only reason Harry knows how to stay under Sylvia’s radar today. When Adam moved out Harry had been angry, terrified, and almost green with envy. But him and Adam stayed close, and despite now Adam being 20 and moving into a flat with his new girlfriend next month, he still checks in on Harry and buys his cigarettes for him.

"Yeah, well, he came into the pub on Saturday for a drink with his mates and gave me some then," Harry explains, lighting his own with a lighter (he’s not stupid enough to do it with his finger on a full street of witnesses) and passes it to Teddy.

"I love Adam," Teddy muses. "He has nice tattoos."

Harry chuckles and takes drags from his cigarette. He misses when Adam lived at the home, and while he loves Stan like an extended brother, he will never be able to replace Adam.

"My parents called last night," Teddy starts, pushing his blue hair out of his eyes. "They said they want to come over this weekend."

"So soon? But you’ve only been back a week. When you got home you said they’d be coming down in a couple of weeks."

"I know, but my dad phoned last night and said they’re planning on coming sooner."

"Oh," Harry says. "That’s good, right?"

"I think so?"

"You don’t sound so sure."

"I guess I’m not sure," Teddy murmurs, shrugging one shoulder as they walk. "It’s just. . . I can’t figure out why they’re showing an interest _now_. They’ve always been too busy to come here."

"What do they do for a living again?"

"My dads a college professor and my mums a police officer," Teddy replies. "I don’t know. . . I’m excited they’re coming for sure, I’m just nervous of what they’ll think."

"How does your grandad feel about this?"

"He hasn’t really said much, which surprises me."

"Interesting."

Teddy rolls his eyes. "I don’t know, man. If they come, they come. If they don’t, I don’t think anyone would be surprised."

When they get to college, there isn’t much time to hang around before classes start so the pair split and Harry makes his way to the Art and Drama building for his first lesson. He meets Stevie and a few of the other early students in the class.

Stevie’s head rises as soon as he walks in and she grins so wide it could split her face.

Class commences and their teacher - Simon - makes them work on their plans for their end of year portfolios. Harry has no idea what he’s doing his one yet, but he’s thinking of something to do with hands. Throughout the lesson, he see’s Stevie on her phone a lot, and when Simon is helping a student at the front, he asks, "What are you doing?"

Stevie looks up, and there’s a mischievous glint in her eye that Harry recognises within a second. "Me and Shaun have a bet on to see who can get a Tinder date first."

Harry groans, dropping his forehead onto the table. "Not another one of your stupid bets again."

"Harry!" She gasps, "I’ll have you know this is a very serious bet! And one _I_ am going to win and whip Shaun’s ass at."

Harry lifts his head. "Of course you are," he says, sarcasm lining his tone.

Stevie rolls her eyes.

She smiles suddenly, "Wanna place bets?"

Harry thinks for a moment, and then he smirks.

"A fiver on you, Stevie Wonder."

Stevie grins wolfishly and shouts, "Hell yeah!"

 

Harry’s last lesson finishes at 4:30, and he has to go straight to the public library for his shift at five. While he’s there, Valerie - the old lady he works with -has him put away a new delivery of books to be added onto the system, barcoded and then put out on the shelves in their specific locations. Harry loves working at the library as much as he loves working at the pub. The two jobs are completely different, but working at the library means Harry works in quiet, surrounded by books and can get as lost in his work as he likes. He also likes to know what new stuff is coming in and often can’t resist the temptation of taking out one of the fresh books to read himself.

His shift at the library ends at 7:30, and Harry gratefully makes his way out of the closed library and towards the tube station to go back to the orphanage. The air is cold and biting, like it normally is during London nightlife. The streets are almost empty this time at night when away from the centre of the city, the pavements deserted. Harry unfolds the collar of his scruffy work man's jacket to protect his neck from the cold. The fingerless gloves he wears in the library doing little to keep his hands warm.

The walk to the station is short, so Harry gets there fast with his quick strides. Despite constantly being teased for his small height, Harry is one of the fasted walkers and runners in their group. He gets to the tube station in now time, but on the platform he sees the next tube train is cancelled and he has another 10 minutes for the next one. Delayed and slightly annoyed, Harry goes back up to the streets to light a cigarette.

He's barely got out the door when a figure who was passing him suddenly grabs him by the arm. Startled and forced to stop, Harry looks around at them quickly.

The grip is tight enough to bruise, borderline painful, and Harry is surprised to see it's a woman. She's wearing all black, a long dress and glossy boots, a long formal coat as if she's come from a funeral. Her hair is black, her skin white and ivory pale, almost like porcelain, her eyes sharp and staring.

Harry notices the single streak of white standing out against the fine black hairs, from root to tip.

Harry is about to open his mouth, to ask what is the woman's problem, when she opens hers and cuts him off.

Her words send a shiver down his spine.

"You're meant to be dead."

Harry blinks.

"I. . . what?"

"You're meant to be dead," the woman repeats. She seems just as surprised as Harry, her eyes wide and. . . scared?

Freaked and spooked, Harry yanks his arm out of her grip and backs away. "I. . . uh, I think you got the wrong person."

She shakes her head, taking a step towards him. "No," she marvels. "It's _you_."

Harry does the only things he's learnt when in situations like this: run. He turns around and bolts down the street. He hears footsteps behind him and wills his legs to carry his faster, the clipping sound of her heels ringing like gunshots in his ear. Adrenaline is pumping through him like a fire, taking over his whole body, consuming him. He has no idea where he's going, and to people who don't live local all the London streets look the same at night. He wonders if he'll be able to lose her if he runs fast enough.

Harry runs until his lungs are burning so bad it feels like he's breathing fire and after taking a sharp left, takes another and ducks into a dark alley. He collapses against the wall, panting and cursing his habit of smoking. He reclines his head back against the cold wall, closing his eyes and catches his breath.

He stands there for a few minutes until his chest doesn't feel like it's going to explode. He looks over his shoulder and back down the road. He doesn't recall seeing the woman pass the alley, so does that mean he already lost her?

Harry has no idea what is happening. He has never seen that woman in his life, but her eyes, the way she was looking at him like she truly thought he was dead, has shaken him to his core.

Taking one last look and finding the street as empty as before. Harry pushes himself off the wall completely. He turns around, intending to look down the alley to see if it was a dead end, and jumps out of his skin.

The woman is standing directly behind him. Her skin as white as the glow of her eyes, illuminated in the clear moon light.

Harry gasps and stumbles back, heart hammering again.

"You're Harry Potter," she says.

"Get away from me," he snarls. It's been a long time since he heard that name. No one in London knows that name.

"I can't believe it's really you," she goes on.

"Who are you?" Harry asks, still backing up.

"Incredible. For so long, everyone was so certain you. . . but you're here," she pauses and cocks her head, looking at him like a peculiar piece of art.

"Get away from me," Harry repeats.

She reaches out, hand as if to grab him, and Harry panics.

"I said get the _fuck_ away from me!" He shouts before he's dashing back out the alley, feet carrying him faster than they ever have. He runs down the street, having headed himself back into the centre of the city. While the back streets of London are quiet during the dark, the main city ever sleeps. The pavements are still crawling with people, taxis parked along the sides of the roads, the streets lit with shop signs and restaurant lights.

Harry weaves through people, shoving a few and ignore the yelps and shouts in his wake. He sprints, he leaps over obstacles like a mad man. It reminds him of times him and the group run away from angry drunkards or, on the rare occasion, police officers. Growing up in an orphanage have given Harry little guidelines and little restrictions for what he does outside the orphanage walls, and he very often finds himself running away from trouble.

He runs through the road, a blare if a car horn fills his working ear but he doesn't stop. His feet barely touch the tarmac as he flies across the road and to the other side, turning sharply down an alleyway. He sees the dead end ahead: a chain-link wire fence that stands way above his head separating his alley from the next. With practiced expertise, Harry jumps at one of the bricked walls, bouncing off and leaping onto the row of closed dustbins. He grabs the top of the fence, the wires cutting painfully into his palms and flips his body over. He falls, landing hard on his feet but moves the moment his toes touch the ground.

At the end, he looks back over his shoulder and finds her standing at the other end, just on the street, watching. Her clothes make her look like a black shadow flapping in a the wind.

The moment Harry see's her take a step, he's darting away again, breaking into another run.

When he's into the backstreets again, he risks stopping. Panting and lungs burning like he's swallowed a lit cigarette, he slows and bends over, hands on his knees. His breathing is hard as he looks around, the streets and pavements completely empty once again. The woman isn't anywhere in sight.

Harry supposes he must have lost her by now. She kept up scarily well, but Harry has just sprinted a length of London, surely she couldn't run that fast in those boots.

Harry drops down on the side of the curb, legs feeling like jelly. White and black spots dance across his eyes, his head spinning. He's too unfit to run like that, he knows this but the adrenaline feeds him like fuel to a flame.

The woman's voice rings in his head.

 _You're meant to be dead_.

Dead? Harry replays the word in his head over and over like a mantra. Is she talking about the Dursley fire? Harry knows that was big news and for him to read about it in a paper in a differentcity meant it was a bad accident. It's not like Harry doesn't think about the Dursley's, they're always a constant thought at the back of his mind, but for someone to practically mention the fire has never happened before. Harry isn't secretive with his friends, but he hasn't revealed anything about his life before the orphanage. As way as they're all aware, he's lived in the orphanage for as long as he can remember.

 _You're Harry Potter_.

Harry runs his hands through his hair and rugs on the unruly strands. How the hell did she know his birth name is Harry Potter? Harry lost that name when the Dursley's sent him to London. Harry doesn't know why they changed it, but he became Harry Evans and ever since then he has gone by Harry Evans and _only_ Evans. Not even Teddy knows his birth name was Potter. Harry can't explain why, he's not entirely sure why himself, but Evans feels like it was a fresh start. While his stay at the orphanage has been no honeymoon, the Dursley's were worse - they were physically worse. When he became Harry Evans he became a whole new person.

So how does this woman - this _stranger_ \- know his birth name?

Harry physically shakes his head as if to shake the thoughts from his mind. He's shaken up and not just from the long distance running on an empty stomach. He looks around him, the street is empty of everyone and anyone, including that woman. Harry lets out a shaky breath, pressing the balls of his palms into the hollow of his eye sockets. A groan of frustration escapes him. It's not like him to be afraid of things like this, but paranoia is crawling all over his skin like a colony of ants: itchy and irritating and unshakable.

Harry has grown a thick skin from the Dursley's abuse, and he has learnt to be cynical about things. The group have always said Harry has 'grey morals', and they couldn't be more accurate. Harry's morals have been morphed by his past, by the way people have treated him. He accepts the way people treat him, but he will also stand up to people and not always for the right reason. Harry sometimes speaks with his fists, sometimes he speaks with vile language and sometimes he doesn't speak at all.

Harry gets himself to his feet. His hands are shaking so bad when he pulls his cigarette packet out of his jacket pocket. His fingers are trembling as he attempts to light it and almost drops the lighter. Giving up, he tosses the lighter back in his pocket and uses his finger. A few seconds after the smoke and nicotine flood his lungs, he feels himself calm down enough to actually gather his scrambled thoughts.

It's almost nine, and Harry doesn't know how long he's been sitting on the side of the curb but he hopes it's safe to say the woman is gone. He worries for a moment that if she knows about his name and potentially the Dursley's, does she know where he lives?

 _No_ , he reminds himself - she was surprised he was alive, therefore she would have no idea where he lives if he's supposedly dead.

He thinks about finding a phone box and calling someone, maybe Teddy or Kyle, but the potential that the woman tracks them down scares him too much.

He's not far from the orphanage, so he smokes half his pack and walks home. With a quick feel of his bag on his back assured him that his skateboard, miraculously, is still secure sticking out the top. He doesn't attempt to ride it. He may be a good skater but his knees are shaking underneath him so bad he's worried he'll be riding like a beginning the whole way home and he doesn't need an injury on top of the crippling anxiety riddling his nerves.

Harry walks back to the orphanage mindlessly, distracted by the woman and his own paranoia. Should he tell someone? Should he have spoken to her? Should he even go back to the home?

When he gets in, it's just gone 9:30 and all the lights are out - an instant and clear indication that Stan has gone to bed. On the kitchen table, Harry drops down his bag and finds folded note against the marked wooden top.

He unfolds it: it's from Stan.

_Gone to bed. There's a plate of food in the fridge for you - fucking eat it you stick thin bastard._

_I made the kiddies wash the dishes because you’re letting them get lazy so all that needs doing is putting them away._

_Stan_

Harry smiles - trust Stan to make the kids do the dishes. Harry goes to the fridge and opens it, seeing a full stacked plate of chicken and potatoes. His stomach churns, the adrenaline and paranoia from the last few hours making his appetite nonexistent. If anything, he feels nauseous.

He grabs the plate and dumps the contents straight into the bin, grabbing an apple from the bowl to bite into. He munches through it forcefully as he puts the crockery and cutlery away in the draws and cupboards.

When he is done, he tosses the apple core into the bin with one straight toss. He closes the kitchen and dining room door into the hallway to make sure he doesn't let a sound travel upstairs to the sleeping children and Sylvia. He goes to the phone on the wall, pulling of the head mic and winding the number for Teddy's house. It's late and Ed may be sleeping, but Teddy almost certainly won't be.

Leaning against the wall, cradling the phone against his ear with one hand and the other folded and resting across his chest, Harry listens to the ringing.

"La Casa de Lupin, how many I be of assistance?" Teddy answers, voice mocking and cheery.

Harry mentally rolls his eyes. "Teddy, it's me."

"Harry?" Teddy sounds confused and Harry knows he's most likely frowning - Harry rarely calls at night unless something is going on.

"Yeah," Harry replies, running the hand not holding the handset through his hair. "Teddy, man, something—"

"Boy, I am _so_ glad you called," Teddy interrupts. "Guess who called me earlier."

Harry resists the urge to sigh. He knows Teddy- he wouldn't interrupt him like this unless it was something huge.

"Who called you?"

A small spike of fear shot the idea that the woman had rang Teddy, but Harry quickly shoves it to the back of his mind.

"Dude, that's not how you play the game."

"Teddy, it's 10:30 at night and I'm a octave away from waking Sylvia up. Please don't make me fucking guess."

" _Fine_ ," Teddy replies in a dramatic tone, and Harry can just imagine his eye-roll. "If you want to be _boring_ , I'll just tell you. It was my parents."

"They rang you?" Harry echoes. "What did they possibly want?"

"They had news: They're coming down this weekend!" Teddy exclaims.

Harry can't help but smile to himself because Teddy sounds so damn happy.

"Teddy! Man! That's so cool," he replies, keeping his voice low. "Did they say why? They're damn determined to get down here, aren't they?"

"I don't know, man, but I'm so happy. I was worried, y'know, that them saying they were gonna come here was just gonna fall through and not happen like it always does, but they're actually coming! Ed is so excited, said it's been too long since they came it see us instead of me or both of us going to theirs."

"That's great, Teddy," Harry replies, forcing himself to sound as happy as Teddy, but his mind was too occupied.

"It is," Teddy sighs happily. After a moment, he adds, "Are you alright? Why did you phone?"

"Huh? Oh. . . uh, nothing. Just. . . wanted to double check you had classes tomorrow."

"Dude," Teddy says slowly. "I have classes every Tuesday."

"Yeah. . ."

"What have you been smoking?" Teddy laughs, his voice turning serious, glee with excitement, "Have you finally met up with Mike?"

"No," Harry rolls his eyes. "I haven't smoked anything! It was just. . . a weird ride home. I'm still trying to gather myself."

"What happened?" Teddy sounds genuinely worried, but Harry feels like telling him about the woman and the chase would ruin his moment. Teddy’s parents isn’t a sore subject, but it’s always been something he’s been fake cynical about the situation and how they practically sent him to live with his grandfather despite them being two perfectly healthy, working and educated people. Only Harry knows how tender the topic can be - he can certainly relate to the uneasy feeling of abandonment that Teddy sometimes feels.

"Nothing major," Harry replies. "Just saw some street fight and. . . I don’t know. . . wasn’t ready for it."

"Did you get involved?"

"No, not really."

"Not really?"

"Don’t worry about it, Teddycake," Harry teases, diminishing the tension in the conversation. "I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Damn straight you will," Teddy replies cheerily. "Lambeth after college? You don’t have the library, do you?"

"Nope. Lambeth it is."

"Sweet," Teddy whoops. "Get some sleep, Harrykins."

When Harry hangs up, his hands are shaking. He normally doesn't smoke in the house, mostly because he doesn't doubt for a second Sylvia will beat him black and blue for doing in in her home, but the anxiety from the incident with the woman consumes him once more. He barely stays on his feet as he stumbles to the front door, opening it quickly and sitting on the top porch step. He drops down, scrambling for his cigarettes.

What happened with the woman feels like a dirty secret, like something Harry can't tell anyone. Should he tell anyone? After all, is he overreacting?

Harry refuses to think like that - if anyone understood his history with the Dursley's and the coinscidence surrounding Harry supposedly being 'dead', they'd realise why this had shaken Harry up so deeply.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath of the cold, fresh evening air, Harry wills himself to calm down. He feels sick with nerves, his stomach constant flipping and twisting like it's stuck in a knotted rope and struggling to get free.

He smokes the rest of the packet before going inside.

 

_— tbc._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like harry is going to be a really misunderstood character in this and he's probably going to be jumping between cynical and cold to fragile and haunted a lot - so you've been warned!
> 
> thanks for reading <3


	3. lost envelopes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little cheeky change of POV for this chapter - say hello to snape (who is surprisingly hard to write!)

****3

Severus Snape hates any subject but Defence Against the Dark Arts or Potions, but what he most specifically hates, is Muggle Studies. He is even more bitterly hostile towards the students on the day that Dumbledore makes him and Minerva take the sixth years to London to show them what Muggle teenage life is like. Snape can’t believe he got dumped with not just the class, but also the trip, even though he’s not even their teacher.

He hates London - always has. Muggle infested places make his skin crawl, and London is the busiest place he's been with Muggles. Snape hasn't been one to adventure Muggle places, which is why London gives him the feeling of being stuck in a confined space with a bunch of idiots.

And the truly worst thing about being in London, is that it is so busy with Muggles that Snape can't perform anything more than minimal magic without the risk of being spotted.

Stuck on an underground tube train, Snape can barely keep his temper in check as Minerva speaks to the students about the invention of underground trains and the network of them underneath London. The train sways and jerks, juttering along the track with uncomfortable tugs that make Snape very close to losing his balance - and his patience.

"Parkinson, Greengrass," Snape suddenly snaps over Minerva. "Is your discussion more important than Professor McGonagall's lesson?"

Both of the girls, who look like they're caught in headlights, shake their heads.

"Good, because keeping in mind we are currently in an underground maze of fast moving trains, it might be a good idea to listen to Professor McGonagall about the safety and the rules, otherwise you both may find yourselves falling between a train and a track."

Both girls, despite being 16 now, gulp and nod.

"Thank you. . . Professor Snape," Minerva says, though her tone is warning and disapproving, as is the look she flashes him over her shoulder that clearly speaks _was it really necessary to terrify them like that?_

Snape goes back to glaring into space as the train jerks along and Minerva continues to talk about the complexity of the functions of the underground and how Muggles drive them.

This is the first year Dumbledore has allowed as a class for sixth years to be taken out of Hogwarts grounds and brought to London for a day trip to see 'first hand' Muggle life. Apparently, though Snape disagrees whole heartedly for his own sake, the students will understanding Muggle inventions and living better if they witness it face to face. 

Not only does Snape think this first trip is a waste of his own personal time, he also doesn't understand why Dumbledore thinks it's appropriate to host a field trip out of the safe wards of Hogwarts when Voldemort’s reign is nearing his peak. London is already in a state itself from the 'attacks' and 'mysterious gas leaks causing explosions' happening around and inside the city. Does Dumbledore really think Voldemort will be able to resist attacking if he becomes aware that a class of Hogwarts students and two teachers are in London, practically in grasps reach.

Minerva has the whole day set out: they're getting the tube through central London before they're coming out on the East to go and visit a college campus for the Hogwarts students to see what higher education is like in the Muggle world. After that, they will be going to a restaurant to eat before getting back to the platform where the Hogwarts Express will be waiting for them. Why they just can Apparate, Severus is not sure, but perhaps it's because there is no guarantee that all the students will Apparate back to the same place in one piece - or at all. Not that Snape _minds_ that, but as a teacher he has to have some kind of duty to cafe.

The train slows to a stop and Minerva is ushering them all off in a large sea of dress robes, inconsiderate to the other pedestrians close to the train doors whom are shoved back and aside with grunts of annoyance. The students were made to wear their uniform for the trip despite being slightly out of Muggle fashion so Severus and Minerva would be able to identify them from afar if one were to - and it wouldn't be surprising with this class - wander off. Despite being almost 16 Snape is sure the class they've been told to bring are by far the worst possible selection of Gryffindor and Slytherin students they could have brought. Snape just keeps reminding himself at least he doesn't have to participate again for when the Ravenclaw and the Hufflepuff class come for their trip.

Navigating the students out of the underground is harder than navigating them through, and by the time they reach the busy London streets, Severus is a minute away from stunning a innocent Muggle simply for frustration outlet.

"This way, children," Minerva calls as she starts hurting them down "Stay close, stick together. It’s very easy to get lost in a place like this."

Minerva leads and Snape follows, and he manages to squeeze in a sharp cuff on the back of Weasley’s head when he talks about some Muggles funny clothes. From the tube station to one of London’s many colleges, it takes them a seven minute walk (Snape is counting and with every second he makes his patience wears a little more thin).

The college campus is in the East part of London, where the pavements are cracked and dead, crumpled leaves sit in the gutters. The college ground is alive with students and teachers wandering the grounds. There are large patches of grass everywhere, as if the college has been placed on the edge of a field. There’s concrete courtyards with wooden table and benches where students are gathered with books and bags. Minerva leads them all up to the reception where she speaks to the receptionist about how they’re a class from a boarding school coming to visit what a city college is like.

After a few minutes, a middle aged man and a younger woman come into the reception waiting area and after a point from the receptionist, come over with beaming smiles.

"Good morning," the male says, stepping forward to shake Minerva and Snape's hands. He's a short man, slightly tanned with a few years off a pot belly. "My names Poe Mathers. I'm a music teacher here, this is Angela."

He motions to the lady behind him with a light brown bob and large front teeth, "Hi, I teach English here."

"We've been appointed your tour guides for today," Poe explains, smiling. "Are you already split into two groups?"

Minerva nods, and Poe claps his hands together. "Smashing. Well, if you would like to go with Angela, ma’am, and sir, if you and your students would like to come with me."

Annoyance tingles in Snape’s throat but he doesn’t bite: it’s bad enough they’re standing out from they gawking and their robes, the last thing they need to gain more attention by Snape stupefying the college teacher.

Minerva and one half of the students are lead away by Angela and Snape and the others are ushered outside by Poe, who is insisting on showing them the Science department first. It’s only Snape’s vague knowledge (but knowledge, none the less) that enables him to know what ’science’ is before they get to the department. The students, however, are smart enough to not gasp and ask stupid questions about the science labs until Poe’s back is turned. Snape hears Granger rushing to be the first to say, with a hushed voice, that chemistry is basically potions for Muggles.

"So where are you guys from?" Poe asks. "Margret in reception said you were on a trip to see London college life."

Granger, who is at the front dragging Longbottom and Weasley beside her, answers him before anyone else can. "We’re from a boarding school in Scotland."

"Wow!" Poe gasps, and Granger has managed to step up so she is walking alongside the teacher. "How far away. And are you all sixteen?"

"Some of us are seventeen," Granger replies.

"And do you want to attend a college in London?"

"Oh, yes!" Hermione gushes, but Poe is opening a large metal door and ushering them inside.

"This is the Cliff building, where we have Science, English, Maths and other core subjects," Poe explains.

Poe rambles as he goes, and it’s only his impossibly short height that makes his speeches somewhat entertaining as half of the sixteen year olds are taller than the middle-aged man. Snape trails the end of the group of students like a dark shadow and doesn’t miss the way the few Muggle students in the classes who notice them gawk, point and frown in the same way the Hogwarts students are doing to them.

"Now that bit’s done, the boring parts over," he says as he leads them out of the English corridor, "we can go next door, to the other building, where the _real_ magic happens."

Snape can barely contain his snort as to how _ironic_ that line really is.

"The neighbouring building is _my_ building. It’s called the Art and Drama building, but its for all arts, including music," Poe explains. "Are any of you artists, musicians or drama students?"

A few students speak up but most of them stay quiet, out of shyness or lack of interest, Snape isn’t sure but neither way, he’s not bothered.

Poe takes them into a separate building from the reception and the science departments, leading them down a long corridor where through the windows Snape can hear the sounds of disruptive ruckus.

"This is the music corridor," Poe says as he walks ahead. He claps the face of a closed door, "This is my classroom. As you can hear, it can get quite loud when students are given free range to do what they wish with the instruments. Most students who attend music at college already have a specific instrument they already play or have taken ambitious interest in."

He leads them to the second floor.

"This is the art department. There’s only one class on at the moment I think, but I’m not sure what room Simon is in. . ." he trails off as he walks down the corridor, looking into each room. "Ah, here we go. Excuse the rowdiness, there’s a few trouble makers in this class. They’re brilliant at art, but attention spans—" he shakes his head, "— not so good. You get what I mean, don’t you," he grins at Snape and goes to nudge his shoulder, but Snape steps aside as soon as he see’s and Poe misses. The man just laughs and turns back to the window.

Inside, Professor Snape pays no more attention to this class than he does the rest. He glances in, then instantly loses interest and wonders how long he can hold the grudge against Dumbledore for this.

But then, something catches his eye that makes his breath hitch. On the middle desk, is a boy who’s hair and facial features draw Snape in instantly because he is the spitting image of Snape’s once biggest enemy. 

Snape has to do a double-take. At first, he isn’t quiet sure what he is seeing. The boy has rail-thin legs and body, his torn black jeans barely clinging to the sharp bones of his knees and his boots tied up tight. It’s his face that startles Snape the most: gaunt and sharp, but the round of his glasses and the wildness of his curly, jet black hair do nothing to take the attention of his _eyes_. Snape knows those eyes from anywhere.

It’s impossible, Snape has to remind himself. Harry Potter died in a house fire five years ago on Privet Drive with the Dursley’s. It was confirmed that no one in the house survived, everyone perished and that _included_ Harry Potter.

His accusations, however, are confirmed when the supposed Dark Lord slayer who’s supposed to be _dead_ dips his finger into the blue paint and pokes the guy behind him in the cheek, leaving a bright blue smear on his skin and the boy shouts,

"Harry! You fucker!"

 _Harry_.

Snape feels like his stomach has dropped to his feet and his heart has leaped into his throat.

The boy in blue paint leaps up in a second and him and Harry appear to have some kind of head-lock wrestle, and finally Poe seems to notice something is happening beyond the glass window he is talking about.

"Oi, Evans!" Poe shouts, banging on the glass with his fist, and Harry looks up, neck still trapped by the bigger boys arms, his face still split with a grin. "Cut that out!" He opens the door and sticks his head in. "Harry, c'me here."

Harry shakes the boy off, and they’re both laughing hard as the boy goes to the sink and Harry jogs over to the door, nonchalantly eyeing the students through the window as if he’s finally noticed them.

"What's up, Poe?" He asks, and if Severus wasn't reeling at the fact that there is a high possibly the supposed-to-be-dead Harry Potter is standing in front of him, he might have been a bit more horrified at the lack of respectful language between the students and the teachers at the college.

"Where is Simon?" Poe asks.

"He's gone to get the briefs for our portfolios." Harry shrugs, "He's been gone like 20 minutes, though."

Poe hums. "I'm sure he'll be back soon. Try not to paint the rest of the students in the mean time."

Harry grins, cheeky and mischievous. He looks so much like his father in that moment that Snape almost has a flashback to Hogwarts. The only difference is Harry's eyes that Snape could have recognised across the room— that he _did_ recognise across the room. The green is so familiar, so original and couldn't belong to anyone other than the deceased Lily Evans.

Poe called Harry 'Evans'. Snape inwardly frowns and can barely contain his need to grab Harry by the hand, drag him out of the room and interrogate him. Snape’s thoughts feel scattered. He feels shaken, in shock. Harry’s hair hides the only thing that can really determine Snape’s fears.

 _This isn’t happening_ , he thinks to himself. _This_ can’t _be happening. Harry is dead. He’s been dead for five years. It is_ not possible _that he is currently in a art class at college, inches away from Snape’s grasp_.

Harry goes back into the class and Poe is fondly shaking his head as he begins to lead the Hogwarts students away. Snape can barely force himself to move away from the window. Harry is _right there_. He’s back at his desk, talking to a girl with dark makeup and cat-like eyes. He throws his head back and laughs and Snape can _hear_ the James in it, sending a shiver down his spine.

"Will you be joining us?"

Snape looks down and away from the window. Poe is looking up at him, arms behind his back.

"Where are the children?" Snape asks.

"Looking at the art display at the end of the hall," Poe points behind him and he’s right: a few paces away the children are goggling at the wall. "Are you alright?"

 _Yes_ , Snape is ready to say, but his tongue betrays him. "Who is that student?"

"Who? Harry?" Poe asks, and when Snape nods, Poe smiles, "He’s a good kid, just a bit of a troublemaker. Cheeky buggar, that one."

Good kid. Troublemaker. Cheeky buggar.

Snape replays it over and over in his head. He takes one last glance into the window and sees Harry hunched over his book, the girl still talking to the others around her. Forcing himself and finally caving, he walks away from the window.

"Harry’s in my music class too," Poe goes on. "Very talented young man. Here, this is his," Poe stops and points on the wall to a large pencil sketch of a babies hand holding an elderlies, their fingers interlocked. Snape doesn’t want to say it’s good, as such, because whether he goes by Harry Potter or Harry Evans, he is still James Potter’s offspring and Snape refuses to praise anything done by a Potter, but it certainly isn’t _awful_.

"Come, there is much more to see," Poe says, but the little attention Snape managed to force himself to maintain is now gone. All he can think about is how he needs to find Minerva immediately and they need to contact Dumbledore. Harry being alive changes _everything_ , but it also raises speculation as to why in the world Harry’s existence hasn’t been arises and how in the world every wizard and Muggle had missed him, and continued to miss him for the last five years.

It's not like Harry is unrecognisable either. Snape hasn't ever met the child before and even he managed to put the first name and the features together like a puzzle. Snape is reminded once again of the wizarding world’s stupidity and curses them for Harry's ability to hide, practically in plain sight too.

It makes Snape wonder what Harry knows. Does he know what happened to the Dursley's? Does he know about the wizarding world? His parents? His fame? Does he even know what he is?

Snape has so many questions swirling around in his mind in a single moment that he almost experiences vertigo.

Finally, Poe’s tour comes to an end and he leads them to the courtyard where they will meet up with Minerva. Snape is practically brewing, torn between angry at himself for caring about a Potter and angry at the Wizarding world for letting this happen. Snape follows the children to a benched area on the edge of a patch of grass outside the college buildings. Minerva is already there, speaking to Pansy Parkinson who’s evidently complaining about.

Pansy runs off when Snape approaches and Minerva looks up at him through her narrow glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

"Professor," she greets. "How was your—"

"Harry Potter is here."

Minerva’s eyes widen in a blink. She opens her mouth before she closes it again, and again like a gaping fish. She looks around, the children and the Muggles none the wiser. Snape doesn’t think he’s ever seen her so lost for words.

"E-excuse me?" She stammers.

"Harry Potter is alive, and he is here," Snape repeats, keeping him voice relatively hushed.

"Severus, this is no simple accusation. Blurting something like that is serious and insensitive," Minerva scolds, adjusting her glasses. "Now I know you and James never—"

"Minerva, this isn’t about Ja—. . ." he lets out a heavy breath and pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. "This isn’t about _James_. This about the boy being inside that classroom being the same boy who destroyed a dark lord and was supposed to have _died_ in a _fire_ five years ago!"

"Keep your voice down, Professor," Minerva hisses. "This is not something, true or false, you want to be shouting aloud. Get ahold of yourself."

Snape draws in a deep breath and sits opposite Minerva on one of the table benches.

"I am not playing games, Minerva. The child looks exactly like James and Lily, his name is Harry Evans."

"Evans?" Minerva echoes.

"Yes. The teacher told me his name is Harry Evans. For whatever reason that must be linked to the reason he's been hiding, he's taken his mothers name. Whether it was Harry's doing or not, someone has tried to keep him hidden and to do that, they feigned his death and changed his name."

"But who would do that?"

Snape shakes his head. "I'm not sure. But what I _am_ sure of is that that _is_ Harry Potter, and he is most certainly alive."

Minerva shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Professor, but I am not sure I can believe this. It's. . . It's impossible. Dumbledore would have known. . ."

"Must I remind you this may not be the first time the old man has slipped up. The fire on the Dursley's home was arson, the Death Eaters handy work was written all over those charred walls. It's obvious they thought Harry was in there, if what if he wasn't? Did it ever occur to anyone that he wasn't home?"

"Or that he didn't live there at all," Minerva finishes. "I was always speculating Harry going to them."

Snape was about to say that everyone was suspicious of the Dursley's ability to look after a child they clearly didn't want when something catches his eye.

"If you don't believe me," he says, nodding across the field beside them, "then look."

Minerva does, and when she finally sees, she gasps.

Harry is walking out of a set of fire doors from the Art building, the same petite girl from class walking beside him. They laughing at something and heading towards a group of three other teenagers sitting cross legged on the grass.

"Do you believe me now?"

Minerva doesn't take her eyes off the boy as she nods and murmurs, "That's impossible."

Snape scoffs.

Minerva looks at him sharply, and the male professor is surprised to see tears in her eyes. "We could still be wrong. It would just coinscidence."

"You haven't seem him up close, Minerva. There is no coinscidence here."

Minerva shakes her head and looks back over her shoulder. "He's alive," she whispers, and Snape really wishes she would compose herself before the students see her crying. "He's actually alive."

Snape is so busy watching Harry that he's surprised when another boy, with vibrant blue hair and ripped jeans come running up behind him and roughly tackles him to the floor. They roll around, appearing to be fighting until Snape hears the loud, loud wails of laughter from both boys and the other members of the group. The other boy with blue hair is far taller than Harry, better built and a bulkier frame.

It hits him like a freight train, just as it did with Harry, because Snape knows _exactly_ who that blue haired boy is.

"Is that. . .?" Minerva trails off, and Snape nods: Edward Lupin.

"We must inform Lupin immediately."

"He must know," Minerva says. "If his son is friends with. . ."

"If he does know then he has supported a serious crime," Snape growls. "We must contact him and Dumbledore."

Minerva nods. "I just. . . I can’t believe it. Harry’s. . . he’s _alive_."

"Yes, it seems he is," Snape murmurs, and he can't decided whether after all this time, that is a good thing or a bad thing.

 

_— tbc._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you <3


	4. magic hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just want to leave a wee soppy message about how much your responses mean to me. this story is getting so much love and it makes my heart swell every time i read one of your comments. i can't thank you guys enough, or express how much it means to be that you all like this idea as much as me <3
> 
> so, thank you, and i really hope you enjoy the rest of the story!

4

When Harry rolls over, the sheets are cold against his skin and a full-body shiver racks through him. He clenches his fist in the duvet cover and tries to bury his head further into the pillow.

He hears a laugh behind him. "You trying to make out with that pillow or something?"

Harry lets out a sigh. "No. M'just cold."

"That's because neither of us have got up to put the heating on," they reply. The solid line of weight against Harry's back and legs moves closer, pressing their legs into Harry's and entwining their feet. A warm hand slithers across his weight and curls around his ribs, pulling him close. "I know a good way for us to warm up."

Harry turns his head and looks over his shoulder as much as he can. He sees the blurry glimpse of Kyle's chestnut brown hair. "I know a way too. Got any milk?"

"Uh," Kyle's tone loses it's eagerness. "I'm not sure I'm into that, Harry."

Harry rolls his eyes. "For tea, you bimbo."

"Oh, well then no," Kyle replies. "I used the last of it last night with my cereal."

"Of course you did," Harry sighs. He looks over his shoulder and smirks, "I regret introducing you to cereal for dinner. You're the reason I can't have a bloody cup'a tea."

Kyle laughs and squeezes Harry tighter. "Says the person who's normally eating the cereal. I wanted _Coco_ _Pops_ last night, but someone had eaten them all before."

"You can't prove that was me."

"You're the only person in this house, aside from me, who eats them."

Harry grins. He looks at the window beside the bed. Through the gap in the curtain where a sliver of light bleeds through, Harry can see grey cloud.

He groans and sinks his head further into the pillow. "It looks cold outside."

"Of course it'll be cold," Kyle replies. "October or not, you're always f'cking cold."

"Am not," Harry whines.

"Are too," Kyle argues. He pinches Harry's ribs slightly, "I should know, it's difficult getting hard when the persons hands feel like ice."

Harry laughs and tries to shake his hands off.

"Seriously," Kyle chuckles, beginning to tickle Harry's sides. "It's a real quick turn off."

Harry's laughs turn into hysteric screams and he thrashes on the bed, kicking the sheets and blankets in his haste to get away from Kyle's scavenging hands. He tumbles out of the bed, tangled in the duvet, legs tied and hands flailing.

He hits Kyle's wooden floor with a thump and Kyle's cackling laughter echoes in the large bedroom.

"Are you okay?" Kyle struggles to get out as he wheezes and chokes on his laughter.

Harry lays still on the floor but extends his arms up and holds up his middle finger. It's like gasoline to a flame and Kyle's laughter becomes hysteric.

"Come on," he says, when he's calmed down, "Come and get back in bed."

"No, we need milk for tea," Harry replies, sitting up and de-tangling himself from the duvet. He stands and chucks the sheets on the bed on top of Kyle, who's spread out on the bed. He grabs a pair of clean boxers from Kyle's draws as well as his own jeans off the floor and his t-shirt. Goosebumps litter his bare arms and he also snags

"Do you want to wear anymore of my clothes?" Kyle asks sarcastically. He's only just under the covers, his bare legs splayed out still and he's leaning on his arm, hand holding his head up.

"Shut up," Harry grumbles. "It's cold and you're the reason I have to go out in the wind."

"Hey! I offered a much more pleasurable way to warm up, but you were the one who wanted bloody tea."

Harry stops mid-way to putting Kyle's jumper over his head. "When I get back with milk you're not having any tea or cereal. You can have your corn flakes _dry_."

Kyle laughs laying back. He looks at Harry, his hair flopping on his forehead. "But I like things wet."

"You're a dirty buggar," Harry replies as he puts the jumper on. Kyle isn't big, but like Teddy, he's got more bulk than bone unlike Harry, who's like a beanpole and who's clothes hang off his shoulders like on a clothes hanger. "Take a shower, you sweaty sod."

"Hey, you're the reason I'm all sweaty," he says. After a moment, Kyle hums, eyes moving up and down Harry, a smirk tugging one side of his lips. "You look good in my clothes."

"I look good in everything," Harry replies as he walks out the bedroom door.

"There's a fiver on the kitchen side, take that and get some _Jaffa_ _Cakes_ too," Kyle shouts after him. Harry scoops up the bill off the counter top and slides on his trainers at the door.

"I'll be back in 10, make sure the kettles boiled for when I get back," Harry shouts as he steps out the front door and slams it behind him.

The corner shop is less than a minute walk. Kyle lives a middle class part of London, where the houses are big enough and the streets are clean. It's almost 10 in the morning, and the streets are mostly quiet expect for the odd pedestrian moving from door to car.

Harry has spent enough time in Kyle's neighbourhood to know where everything is. He met Kyle after he met Teddy but before he met the rest of the group. Harry doesn't know what it is about Kyle that makes their friendship - or whatever it is they have - so solid yet so peculiar, but Kyle seems to be the person Harry can run to when he doesn't need just a friend, but a punching bag, or a release. Kyle is far more reckless than Teddy, further in the dirt. Teddy will always be Harry's brother, but Kyle is there for Harry in far different ways that Teddy could never manage.

The small store sits on the corner of the street. The bell chimes above Harry's head when he enters. There's a faded sign on the door that says no more than one school child at a time due to shop lifting, and Harry still remembers the time he got kicked out because he looked so young the woman behind the counter wouldn't believe he was in college.

Harry grabs the milk from the first isle and snatches a box of _Jaffa_ _Cakes_ for Kyle before he makes his way to the counter.

On his way, he passes the news stand and his eyes catch the front page.

His eyes become glued to the paper. The headlines talking about another suspected terrorist attack on a couple of cafes with no survivors. When Harry reads a few lines into the small print, he sees that the cafes were only a couple of blocks away from his orphanage.

"Hey, kid," the sales assistant says behind the counter. "If you want to read it, you’re gonna have to buy it."

"Sorry, Paul," Harry mumbles (he’s come to the shop often enough now and for long enough to have got to know the few staff that run the store), stepping away from the paper and forcing himself to stop staring. "Just caught my eye."

Paul nods and slumps against the counter. "Understandable. Pretty heavy stuff, huh? City hasn’t been this scared since that murder-bloke broke outta prison. What was 'is name. . . Black som’in."

"Sirius Black," Harry corrects. "Did they ever find him?"

"Nah, course they didn’t. A guy like that doesn’t break out of a prison like that just to get caught by a couple of amateur pigs," Paul replies.

Harry hums in reply and placed the carton of milk on the counter. His eyes fall back to the paper, the startling headline written in big, black, block letters against the white paper.

"No survivors again," Harry says.

"Nope," Paul sighs. "Guys who are doing this know what they're damn doing. At this rate there's gonna be no one left in London."

"Have they really not found the people who are doing it?"

"Pigs have no idea, no idea at all. F'king useless, the lot of them. My Ange was there not half an hour before they hit one of those cafes."

Harry whistles, "Shit."

"Shit indeed, kid. It's a scary world out there now, with stabbing and shooting and gas leaks and bombs. Only was ever like this in the war."

Harry narrows his eyes. "You can't be a day over 45, what you talking about the war for?"

Paul raises an eyebrow. "Alright, _kid_. I might not have been around in the war, but my folks were, and they're sure scared of these times. Worlds gone bloody mad."

Harry hums, looking over his shoulder at the paper again.

"Are you scared?" He asks Paul.

Paul looks up at him from where he was putting the milk through the till. He's quiet for a long moment. "You bet I am," he says softly. "Whoever these people are, there's no stopping them. Whatever they want, they've made their point that they're not going to stop until they get whatever it is they're looking for."

Harry swallows. He's never paid much attention to London crime news. He doesn't know that's because he's never had the parents to be afraid for him or warn him about gang crime and gun wars or because he's just been lucky enough to never be involved in anything. He's not scared, because he keeps using the excuse that's it's just London. It's what happens, right?

"That's three-ten, please," Paul requests, and Harry hands over the crinkled paper bill.

When Harry gets back the change, he shoves the box of cakes into the front pouch pocket of Kyle's jumper and hooks the milk under his arm. He looks up at Paul.

"Thanks, Paul."

"Stay safe out there, kiddo," Paul replies as Harry walks out.

He's greeted with harsh breeze

"Honey, I'm home!" Harry shouts as he waltz's into the house. The door slams shut behind him and he says kicks off his shoes. "Did you boil the kettle?"

"Yeah, just finished," Kyle shouts from the bedroom. Harry goes into the kitchen and taps the kettle lightly on the side, instantly feeling the burning heat. He grabs two mugs from the cupboard as readies the tea before he goes into the bedroom.

Kyle is lying on his stomach in the middle of the bed, reading the blurb of Harry's ruined paperback book. He looks over his shoulder when Harry comes in and grins, "Hey, tea bitch."

"Hey, asshole-who's-not-getting-any- _Jaffa_ - _Cakes_ ," Harry replies as he comes to Kyle's side.

The light brown haired teen gasps. "No! Not the _Jaffa_ _Cakes!"_

Harry rolls his eyes as he digs out the box from his front pocket and tosses it at the teen in the bed. Kyle squeaks when the box hits him square in the face and catches it before it toppes off the bed.

"Well, that hurt," Kyle deadpans.

Harry scoffs a laugh. "Take your tea, princess."

Kyle snatches the tea as much as he can without spilling it and reclines back against the headboard. Harry rounds the bed and places his tea on the bedside cabinet. He strips his clothes and is about to pull his pants down when Kyle is leaning across the bed.

"Lemme get that for you," he says before he's retching the boxers down and grabbing Harry around the waist, yanking him back into the bed. Harry yelps in surpise but doesn't have a moment to protest as Kyle is enveloping them both under the covers.

"But the tea!" Harry cries.

"Harry," Kyle says, voice muffled by the duvet over his head.

"Yes?"

"Shut the hell up."

Harry does.

 

The next evening, Harry is at the bar. Dan is out the back, cashing up the first till when Harry rings the large, metal bell above the bar worktop and calls, "Last orders!"

"That time already, Harry?" One of the regulars, Tim - a bald man who’s always dressed in a suit, says as he finishes his last lager.

"'Fraid so, Tim," Harry replies as he wipes down the bar top. "Want another one before I clean the pumps?"

Tim visibly ponders on this before he nods, shrugging one broad shoulder. "Eh, why not. Thanks, kiddo."

Harry rolls his eyes and grabs a new glass, filling it to the brim before sliding it towards Tim and taking the empty one. He puts it in dishwasher under the counter and adds it to his running tab on the till.

A few blokes who are gathered and seated around the TV at the back, watching an old football game, come to the bar and order another round of beers and ciders, and after they’ve paid Harry places the money in the till.

He’s getting the dishwasher ready to run when a man strolls up to the bar and when Harry looks up to serve him, he has to hide his surprise at the mans appearance. Bleach blonde hair, long enough to reach past his shoulders hangs either side of his face like pale curtains. His face is twisted in a scowl, his thin lips pressed together tightly in an unimpressed purse. He’s dressed in old fashioned black clothing, coat long and a white shirt buttoned up even to the collar.

"Hi," Harry greets, forcing a smile. "Can I get you anything?"

"When do you close?" The man asks, completely ignoring Harry’s question. His voice is sly and slick, almost disapproving, as if Harry has just spat on his shoe instead of offered him a drink.

"About 15 minutes officially, meant to close at 12. Most of these guys stay till about 12:30, 1ish, though," Harry replies. "I just called last orders, it’s now or go without."

The man inclines his head to the side slightly, jutting his chin up. Harry very barely resists yanking his hair to see if it’s a wig to get a reaction out of the man.

"Okay," he replies after a minute of staring, his eyes not leaving Harry for a moment. "Thank you."

And with that, he turns in a dramatic sweep and walks straight out of the bar.

John, who is sat beside the gap the blonde man had been standing in, snorts into his beer, "What a fucking weirdo."

Harry grunts in agreement, eyes still on the door the man disappeared out of. There’s a funny feeling he can’t shake, an uncertainty. The man looked almost familiar, but Harry knows he would never forget a person who looked and acted like that.

"Man needed a damn haircut," John mumbles, lighting a cigarette. "And a manner-check. You alright, kid?"

Harry nods and finishes readying the dishwasher. He puts it onto the quick run and continues wiping down the worktop.

Dan comes out from the back room, rubbing his hands together. He gives Harry a clap on the back. "Last orders, lads. Who wants another pint before Harry here cleans up?"

"Your lad here just got checked out by a princess with long hair," John says.

Dan swirls his head towards Harry. "What?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "He didn't check me out, he just asked when we close."

"Harry, lad, the man was bloody odd and he was checking you out like a starving man looking at dinner."

"You alright, Harry?" Dan asks.

Harry throws up his hands. "I’m fine, can everyone stop fretting? The guy was just weird. He wasn’t weird with me, he is just weird."

Dan laughs. "Jesus, quite a memorable guy."

"Not many guys have long blonde hair, Danny-boy."

Dan’s eyes widen in surprise and he smirks as he passes Harry to the pump. "You always attract the funny ones, don’t you, Harry?"

"Oh, jog on, Dan," Harry replies, and a roar of laughter from the guys at the bar fills the room.

"Seriously though," Dan says, coming up beside Harry and keeping his voice hushed, "you feel okay getting home? You know Derek and Eva won’t mind a bit if you come back tonight."

Harry’s heart almost beats out of his chest. There is so much care, so much worry and trust in Dan’s voice Harry aches for a rare moment that it’s coming from his own father. Dan protects him like Teddy, Adam and Ed do: like he’s one of their own and while it’s the best feeling in the world, it’s also the worst and it _hurts_.

"Thanks, Dan," Harry smiles, "but I’m fine. Really, there’s nothing to worry about. The guy was just funny looking because of his hair and the guys are teasing."

Dan squeezes his shoulder. "Alright, kiddo. Get these guys a last drink and lets close up."

Tim is the last to leave, and they manage to lock the door behind him at 1:15 in the morning.

Harry's eyes are sore with exhaustion by the time he's emptying the dishwasher for the last time and towel drying the glasses before putting them back on the shelf. Dan comes in and steps carefully over the recently moped floor to wipe down the last of the tables.

"You alright, kiddo?" Dan asks when he comes back and tosses the rag in the dirty pile.

Harry nods. "Yeah. We done?"

"Yeah," Dan looks around, nodding and satisfied. "Yeah, man. See you tomorrow."

Harry grabs his bag from outback and shrugs on his jacket. As he walks out, he shouts, "Adios, amigo!"

Justin salutes with one hand, flashing him a grin. "Bon voyage, muchacho!"

Harry turns up his collar when he gets outside. The temperature is getting colder by the day and it won't be long before walking home is no longer an option. Harry still has another week before his library wage goes into his account and as his pub wages go towards paying rent at the house, he's out of money for the tube trains which calls for another night of walking home.

Walking, it would take Harry two hours to get from the pub to the house, but when Harry feels the familiar weight of his skateboard in his rucksack pressing against his back, Harry knows it will only take him an hour. He's walking to the end of a narrow off road, halfway to pulling out his cigarettes when he notices something at the end of the road that makes his heart drop to his toes.

It's them: the man from the pub and the woman from the tube station. Harry feels his breath jump in his throat. He's gotten into brawls, fist fights, chases, shouting arguments, but the sight of the two people at the end of the street makes him feel a whole new kind of fear. He's never been scared of much. He's always thrived in the adrenaline from receiving a punch or landing one, the taste of blood on his lips or the aching bruises littering his split knuckles. But the sight of those two people, their black long clothing blowing in the wind, their faces concealed by the shadows from the streetlights makes Harry feel like his heart is about to beat out of his chest.

None of them say anything. They're deep enough into London that the living city has gone to sleep and the streets are empty and quiet, the only sound to be heard is the howl of the wind.

Harry can't hear anything over the roar of blood rushing to his ears and the sudden erratic hitch of his breathing. He wants to shout out to them, to ask what they want, but he knows his voice will get caught in his throat and choke him.

And then, the man is reaching for something inside his jacket, and Harry has to wonder what in the world he has done to cause some kind of gang want to track him down and shoot him in the middle of the damn street. Harry braces himself, ready to flight because fight if not an option against a bullet, when he sees that what the man hasn’t pulled is a gun, but instead something slim and long. Harry barely has a moment to wonder what it is and what is going to happen before the man is holding it up and a bright blue light is being emitted. It shoots towards him and out of instinct, Harry throws his hands up, and for a split conscious moment, he could laugh to himself about the idiocy of using his hands to block what could be anything flying at him. He closes his eyes and unconsciously turns his face away, but nothing hits him. He feels a jolt, a kind of pressure hitting his hands and spreading out before it's just. . . gone.

Harry looks up, his hands still up, palms splayed. Whatever the man threw is gone, and Harry is still trying to process how when he blasts another one. Harry holds his hands up higher and he watches, in astonishment, as the blue lights hits his hands and something like a transparent shield that appears and shimmers in front of him like a falling curtain. The blue blast flies to the side, away from Harry and this time apparently hitting a pavement slab. It makes a sound like an grenade hitting its mark and beneath the smoke, Harry sees the slab has been cracked with a spider web pattern like shattered glass.

Gulping, Harry looks to the man and the woman. He can't see them clearly, and he's almost in too much shock from the tingling in his hands to try and speak. He looks down at them: they still look the same, pale and bone and slender. He closes them, squeezing them tight and opens them again. Nothing. They don't feel any different, they don't look any different, so what the hell did he manage to do?

Harry looks up in time to see the man throw up the weapon he's holding and for another blue light to explode towards him. Harry throws his hands up, and watches as it smashes into the shield he manages to quickly form. They blast another one, and Harry finds himself swiping them away like he's batting flies.

Harry knows this is linked to his magic trick with Teddy, but he's never used it for anything other than lighting his cigarettes or making the glasses on the other side of the pub fly into his hands when he's too lazy to walk and Dan isn't around. Harry has never used the magic like this, to create a kind of force field around himself, a defence. He feels almost high on the adrenaline, legs shaky and heart racing but he _likes_ it.

Testing himself, Harry reaches for the energy like a ball in his chest, pulling it like a strand or a thread and as it unravels, he feels it travel to his hands, surging to the tips of his fingers.

A bright light explodes from his palms like a ball of white fire. He feels like a live wire on adrenaline, the balls of his feet springs on the floor. The ball he thrusts ahead of him flies towards the man and hits him square in the chest. The ball seems to explode and the man flies back, landing in a crumpled heap on the road surface.

The woman, who had stood and watched as the man was blasted back, turns to Harry so slowly, her body barely moving. A shiver runs down Harry’s spine, the adrenaline faulting as the eeriness of the scene envelopes him like a thick, suffocating blanket.

Fight or flight picks at Harry again like an insect crawling across his skin. He spins around, intending to make a break for it while the man is down, but as soon as he's turned, the woman is suddenly in front of him, as if she's moved in a blink of an eye again.

Harry doesn't even have a chance to get a gasp out in surprise before the woman is pointing what could only be a _stick_ at him, shouting something Harry can't even pronounce, and the familiar blue light at him. Harry throws his hands up and the ball bounces off the invisible shield and strikes back at her, hitting her in the chest. She falls back a step and collapses on the floor.

Harry doesn't hesitate another moment, sparing a glance back to see the man climbing to his feet as he breaks into a sprint.

He runs down the street, his feet skimming the dirty road floor. He takes a sharp turn and ducks between two cars, but he hears it for a nanosecond before the first car explodes. The same blue light crashes into the car and it explodes like a bomb was thrown inside and set off. Harry stumbles, glass reigning over him. He feels the sting in his arm, but it's nothing compared to the blast he feels in his skull, the burst of his working ear. He gasps - and if he wasn't suddenly feeling like he's running for his life again, he'd be worried that couldn't hear the gasp that came out of his own mouth.

He doesn't stop. These guys aren't the ordinary thugs that chased Harry through the city. He has a bad feeling they aren't going to stop, so he struggles to find his balance and keeps running. He can't even hear if there are footsteps behind him but he knows the area well enough so he takes the right turns to lead him back to the underground station. He takes the stairs four at a time, leaping down them on shaky legs. He hurdles the ticket barriers, and he doesn't know if it's luck or chance, but there's a train sitting on the platform as he comes stumbling down the stairs. He hears the daunting bell that signals the train leaving and forces his legs to carry him faster. The doors begin to close, and Harry's heart leaps into his throat as he dives between two sliding doors. They close behind him and he feels them catch for a moment on his rucksack. They shut firmly with a click and a moment later, the train swings into movement and just before the tube train ducks into the tunnel, Harry sees out the window the man and the woman running onto the platform, left behind.

Harry lets out a stuttering breath as stumbles back in new foul legs and collapses back into one of the tube benches. He half consciously looks around, and finds that the carriage is blessedly empty apart from a man at the other end who's dressed in ratty clothes and is evidently sleeping going by the hunched way his head is tucked into his jacket.

Harry feels oddly like he's floating. He's coming down from the adrenaline and he feels tired enough that he's fighting to keep his eyes open. His stomach is swimming, nausea climbing up his throat like a clawed hand. His chest feels like there's a heavy brick in it, weighing him down like an anchor trying to drown him.

He reclines his head back and closes his eyes, willing his stomach and nerves to calm.

What the _fuck_ just happened. He can't even comprehend. What were they trying to do? Were they trying to _kill_ him? He can feel his hands trembling in his lap. The same hands that blasted that man back and created a force field around himself.

Harry feels like he's lost his mind. He feels like that time him and Teddy smoked too much weed and started making up stories and in the end, they could barely decipher which ones were true and which ones were not. His chest shakes as it rises and falls. He looks down at his hands, at his once innocent, harmless fingers. Could he have hurt that man? Could _he_ have killed him?

Harry notices a single line of crimson red that has run down his hand to the tip of his finger. Suddenly remembering, pain flares up in his arm. He feels the top half of his arm with his other hand and finds the fabric of his jacket absolutely saturated, soaking his hand instantly.

He tries to summon the last drips of adrenaline in his veins to keep him going. He looks at the tube map above the opposite set of chairs. Harry knows the tube trains like the back of his hand and almost instantly knows his route to Teddy's house. He's too shaken up to process the idea of having to face the home and the kids, and a small childish part of him doesn't think he can handle going to an empty house after what's just happened.

When he gets out of the underground near Teddy's estate, the sudden daunting realisation hits Harry that those people might be following him. They put up a hell of a fight, and Harry doubts they're going to give up because he got away a couple of blocks by train.

His legs ache and his body is dragging him down with exhaustion, but Harry breaks out into a run and forces himself to keep it up. He can't hear his own steps, everything sounds like it's being heard underwater, muffled and far away. His rucksack hits his back with every leap, his arm burns and he can feel the warm blood running down his skin to his finger tips but he doesn't dare stop. If they find Harry, they may find Teddy and Ed.

Harry doesn't realise the consequence of his decision until he's already taken the front steps two at a time and is banging his fist on the door. He has no consciousness of the time, or that Teddy and Ed might be asleep as he looks over his shoulder, paranoid and suddenly afraid, and bangs again - this time harder.

The door swings open, and Harry catches the short sight of blue hair before he's pushing his way in and slamming the door behind him.

"Harry?" He hears Teddy say. "What the—"

"I'm sorry, I didn't think that coming here would put you in danger, but they could be following me. I lost them in Kings Cross but they—"

Teddy grabs Harry by both shoulders, holding him still and cutting him off. "Harry, what are you talking about?"

"They were following me and they tried to _blow_ _me_ _up_ , Teddy!" Harry exclaims. He can barely even hear himself, and maybe if he had he would have known that he's shouting like a mad man in Teddy's doorway. "It's fucking insane. I don’t— I don't even know who they _are_ or what they _want_. They just suddenly appeared out of fucking nowhere and started throwing these balls of _something_ at me with these sticks and oh _God_ , Teddy, I thought the guy was pulling out a gun and he was going to _shoot_ me but then he was making shit explode and—"

"Harry—"

"And I did _something_ , Teddy, and I have no idea what it was but I stopped it— I stopped these explosions aimed at me with my hands and I don’t even know how. But they could be following me, and I don’t know where they went or if they know were we all live—"

" _Harry!"_  Teddy repeats, shaking Harry, and only then does he feel the wetness on one of his hands. "You need to calm down, because you’re scaring the shit outta me."

Harry opens his mouth, and then he closes it as he shakily nods. He’s trembling beneath Teddy’s hands, weak on his legs.

Teddy’s eyes trace every inch of Harry’s pale, clammy, colourless face, and wonders what could have ever shaken his best friend as much as whatever this is has.

Teddy opens his mouth to say something, but he removes his hands and is interrupted by the bright red stains on his hands.

"What the. . ." he starts, but then he realises, "Holy _shit_. Harry! Is this—? Are you—?"

Harry looks down at his arm: his hand is completely covered in blood. He hadn't realised it was that bad.

"I. . ." He trails off, throat suddenly thick.

"Holy shit," Harry vaguely hears Teddy day, and he looks up in like to see Teddy's lips move to say, "you look like your about to pass out."

"I'm fine," Harry says automatically, except his mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton and his head is pounding like an army is marching through it.

"You are not damn fine," Teddy says, grabbing Harry again and pushing him through the hallway into the kitchen. "Grandad!"

Ed pops his head out almost immediately of the living room, looking as if he was already coming - he most likely heard the hysteric shouting.

He takes one look at Harry and his eyes widen. "What in Merlin's name happened?"

"I'll explain in a second, can you just--"

Ed nods. "I'll get the first aid kit. Get him into the kitchen."

Ed is gone before Teddy can respond. In the kitchen, Teddy gets Harry sitting on one of the bar stools. He helps him peel off his jacket and then get his jumper over his head. Both fabrics are practically dripping, and it's a wonder Harry hasn't already passed out.

"Holy shit," Teddy whispers, but Harry can't hear anything so soft and quiet. He bites his lips to refrain from crying out when he lifts his arms to get them out of the jumper sleeves.

Ed comes rushing in, first aid kit in hand. He puts in on the counter and cups one of Harry's cheeks, making the teen look up at him.

"You're gonna be fine, kid," he says, and his words may be gruff but Harry has been here enough times to know there couldn't be more love in them. 

Harry nods shakily.

Ed opens the first aid kit just as two people come to stand in the doorway.

"What's happened?" The woman asks. Her hair is bubblegum pink and her skin is fair.

"Is everything alright?" The man asks, but as soon as he sees Harry his face falls and he murmurs in a hushed gasp, "Oh my Merlin. . . it's true."

The woman, Ed and two teenagers look at him.

"What's true?" Teddy asks.

The man looks at Harry and nods.

"You're alive."

 

 _— tbc._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just want to put it out there i do not constitute with underage sex. in the uk, the legal age for sex is 16, so anything that is written presently in this story is while they are all of age. 
> 
> there is referral to Harry and Kyle being together sexually before they are 16, and i do not want it to be taken wrongly that i am encouraging it - you do you, don't mind my opinion. i am just having Harry and Kyle have sexual relations while they are underage to add to the prompt that harry's upbringing has not been the most guiding.
> 
> regardless, hope you enjoyed! x
> 
> ps: there's going to be a longer wait for the next chapter because I want to focus on my other wip's and college is picking up, sorry lives <3


	5. panic room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long, been overworked with college finals, so much work for savings and way too many wip's currently in progress. I also fell into a writers block stump with this chapter because it was so important to laying out all the details and filling the plot holes from the last chapters, so I wanted it to be perfect. This chapter is short, but everything in it is important and I came to a good ending spot so, enjoy!
> 
> That you for all the support and love you have all given this story, I'm completely blown away by the responses <3

5

Silence fills the room. No one dares to speak, no one knows what to say. Ed stands, a wipe in one hand and the bottle of antiseptic wash in the other, his glasses on the tip of his nose and sliding dangerously towards the end. Teddy sinks slowly into the chair behind him, mouth agape and eyes flickering between his parents. Tonks and Remus are staring, eyes so wide they’re almost bulging out of their heads as they stare at the teen in front of them. And Harry, who’s complexion is white from blood loss, shock, and exhaustion, stares at the man whom Teddy claims is his father like he’s lost his mind.

"Dad. . ." Teddy starts, trailing off and licking his lips. "What did you. . . what do you mean when you say. . ."

Teddy doesn’t finish, the words fall silent off his tongue.

"I can’t believe what I’m seeing," Teddy’s father murmurs, obviously to himself but loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. "You’re. . . you’re here. You’re alive. How. . . how the hell are you alive?"

"I know living is sometimes a challenge, but it’s really not all that surprising a 16 year-old isn’t dead."

"It is for you," the older man replies. "My, you look exactly like them, practically carbon-copies of them both."

"Who are you talking about?"

"You’re parents, Harry."

"My parents?!" Harry snaps. "How the hell do you know my parents?"

"Everyone knows your parents," the woman says. "You’re Harry Potter."

"Potter?" Teddy echoes.

"I’m not Harry Potter," Harry whispers.

Teddy’s father blinks. "What?"

"I’m not Harry Potter," he repeats. "I haven’t been Harry Potter in a long time."

Teddy looks up at him, face twisted so tight in confusion. "'Haven’t been’? Harry, what the—"

"My name is Harry Evans," Harry says, not taking his eyes off the man who claims to be Teddy’s father. His gaze is almost challenging, as if he’s daring the older man to argue him, to mention his old name again. "It was changed when I came to London."

"I don’t know how to put this lightly, Harry," the man starts, "but there is much to explain."

"You got that right," Harry retorts heatedly. "This is the second time within three days since someone has been surprised that I’m alive. So, sir, or whatever your name is, please start explaining what the fuck is going on!"

"Woah," the woman beside him laughs, "Was definitely not expecting that reaction. Got quite a mouth, huh?"

"Dora, leave it. He’s scared, and the conversation we’re about to have isn’t going to make it much better," the man whispers to her. He looks back at Harry and smiles, "Harry, let me introduce myself. My name is Remus Lupin, and this is my partner Nymphadora Tonks. We’re Teddy’s parents, and we’re wizards."

Harry blinks, eyes growing slightly wide but not as much as Lupin or Tonks expected. He stares the two for a long minute before he turns to Teddy.

"I hit my head and I think my mind are tricking things," Harry says seriously. "What the hell did he just say?"

Teddy looks at him, mouth slightly agape and one eyebrow inclined, expression unimpressed. He looks back at his parents, "Dad, did you just say you’re a _wizard_?"

"Is that some kind of thing old people say?" Harry asks.

Tonks reels like she’s been slapped. "Old? Did you just call me old?! I’m only 36!"

"Dora," Lupin shushes. "Harry, Teddy, it’s not a 'saying'. This is going to be hard to explain, so you’re going to have to be patient."

"I’m afraid I ran out of that when two strange people decided to attack me in the middle of the street," Harry snaps.

Teddy looks around Harry at Ed. "Grandad, do you know what’s going on?"

Ed takes a deep breath, eyes flickering towards Remus and Tonks for a moment before they return to Teddy. He exhales, "Yes. Y. . . Yes, Teddy. I. . . what your father is saying is true. They’re wizards. . ."

"And so are the two of you."

Harry hears his own sharp intake of breath. He feels it get stuck in his throat, feels his chest become tight with pressure.

Teddy’s face is awash with horror and confusion. "Wait. . . you. . . we. . . wizards are _real?_ "

"You’re barmy," Harry says, shaking his head. "Sorry, Teddy, mate, but your parents are actual lunatics."

"I feel like I should be the one apologising," Teddy murmurs straight back. "I mean they’re my parents. I should be the one apologising for their. . ."

"Harry, you can’t lie to me and say nothing has ever happened in your life that you can’t explain," Lupin counters. "Simultaneous fires, things flying across the room, glasses shattering when you get angry, turning a bullies hair pink."

Harry swallows hard. Plenty of that has happened: too much of it. He’s told Teddy some of it, and he knows Teddy makes the same connections that Harry does by the way his shoulders tense up.

"Jesus, I hit my head harder than I thought," Harry says suddenly, rubbing a hand roughly down his face. "Really, I’m starting to debate if I’m actually laying on the side of the pavement, knocked out and this is some kind of messed up nightmare I’m stuck in until I wake up."

"Harry," Remus says, "I promise you, all of this is real."

"Your promises mean nothing to me," Harry murmurs. "I’ve never even met you before and now you’re saying I’m supposed to be dead and I’m actually a fucking wizard. I mean what the actual fuck."

"I respect that," Lupin nods. "Perhaps, you’d be more inclined to believe me if I show you."

"Show me wha—"

Harry is cut off when Teddy’s father pulls out a long, thin stick from the inside of his coat. Harry is about to laugh out of the ridiculousness of the situation, when the man is muttering something under his breath that even if Harry’s ears were working he wouldn’t be able to hear and suddenly, the open fire by the two sitting chairs at the end of the dining room catches alight.

Harry’s eyes widen, as do Teddy’s, their gazes locked on the flickering flames and burning pile of wood. Looking back at Remus, who smirks before pointing the stick at the fruit bowl on the island. An orange rises out, following the guidance of the wands movement. It guides through the air before it stops above Teddy’s lap. It drops suddenly and Teddy catches it.

"Believe me now?"

Harry looks at Lupin. "I think it’s time you started from the beginning."

 

Ed cleans and wraps Harry’s arm, though he voices his concerns about it potentially needing stitches. Harry goes into the bathroom to wipe the blood from his face where it’d bled from his ringing ears. His head is pounding, and the painkillers Teddy had thrust into his hands have one nothing to take the edge off from the pulsating throb behind his eyes and in his temples. Every joint and limb aches as he settles on the couch beside Teddy, Remus and Tonks on the one opposite and Ed sitting on a chair between them both. Ed and Tonks had made tea and everyone had a steaming hot mug in their hands.

After a brief and blunt explanation from Teddy's mother, it is explained that there is a whole other world where magic is a everyday thing and there are schools that teach it, jobs that involve it. Even the basic things like banking and governments are completely magic-ised. There are curses and spells, creatures of all kinds that _work_ and teach and _talk_.

Harry's brain feels like mush by the time Tonks and finishes rambling. There was so much to take in, and he's pretty sure he missed most of it when his eyes repeatedly unfocused and his lip-reading was just a blur.

Tonks laughs a little, apparently reading Harry and Teddy's star-struck expressions. "I can't imagine how confusing this must be. I mean, it's hard enough trying to break it to 11 year olds, let alone 17."

"Tell me about it," Harry mutters tensely. "So, let me just get this straight. You two are wizards, Ed is a wizard, Teddy is a wizard, and I am a wizard."

Lupin nods. "Yes."

"And what is the reason for why no one has thought to tell us this?"

"Well," Remus coughs uncomfortably, risking a side glance towards Tonks. "We can't account for you, I'm afraid. You were meant to get a letter on your eleventh birthday regarding attending Hogwarts, but there was a house fire and you were declared dead and. . ."

"What about me?" Teddy asks. Harry is grateful Teddy hasn't asked about Lupin revealing that his old home was burned down in a fire. He knows it will come up later, but for now, he is grateful. "Why wasn't I made aware of my. . . magic abilities."

Tonks sighs, and Lupin reaches across to hold her hand.

"Teddy, sweetheart, it's. . . it's a lot more complicated than you think. You. . . it wasn't just a matter of getting a letter. We brought you up embracing your ability to change the way you look, you little talent," she smiles nostalgically, "and we were going to introduce you to magic, we were going to send you to Hogwarts but after happened with Harry's family--"

"They're not my family," Harry says before he can stop himself. His cheeks burn red, hot and vigorous.

Tonks blinks, but then she masks her surprise and nods, "Harry's _relatives_ ," she corrects softly, "after what happened it was plastered as a Death Eater attack, a sign that _his_ work was back again. We couldn't bare the idea of you being part of it, being apart of what we were a part of. It was. . . we lost so much and we couldn't bare the idea of that happening to you."

"So instead, you kept my out of it," Teddy nods. "By lying to me."

Tonks' face falls. "No," she whispers, shaking her head. "No, Teddy, baby, it wasn't like that."

"I think it was exactly like that," Teddy snaps.

"Teddy, we were protecting you," Lupin says. "You didn't need to go to Hogwarts. You have other abilities, ones that you could adapt into Muggle life."

"Okay, hold up," Harry holds up a hand. "You have said two words now that I don't understand: Death Eater, and Muggle. Explain?"

"A Muggle is someone with no magic," Lupin replies.

"How do you know I'm not a Muggle. I've never done any magic before," Teddy grumbles.

"You're like me," Tonks smiles. "You are something called a Metamorphmagus, that's how you can change your appearance, change your hair colour."

 _Or sneeze and grow a pigs nose on the school field_ , Harry thinks.

"You can't be an Metamorphmagus without it having magic, Teddy."

Teddy nods but he doesn't look okay. Harry can't imagine he is: he's just been told about a world his parents purposely kept him out of. While Harry missed out on it too, no one specifically kept it a secret from him. They just thought he was dead.

Lupin puts down his mug on the table. "Harry, what do you know about your parents?"

Harry blinks. "My parents?"

"Lily and James Potter."

Harry blows out his cheeks as he exhales. "I don’t know much. Just that they were drunks, totalled themselves in a car one night when I was—"

"Wait, wait, wait," Lupin interrupts, holding a hand up to silence the teen. Harry opens his mouth to argue, but the look on Lupin and Tonk faces keeps him quiet. "You. . . drunks? Did you just say they were _drunks?"_

"Yeah," Harry says slowly. "That’s what my Aunt and Uncle told me. That’s why I was dumped with them, because my parents—"

"They weren’t drunks," Lupin almost snaps. His hands are balled into fists in his lap, shaking with anger - but not at Harry. "Your parents, they. . . they were the most bravest, most courageous, most. . . they were the best people I knew, the best _parents_ I knew before they—"

Harry waits a beat. "Before they what?"

Lupin looks at Tonks, then at Ed. His expression is grave, and Harry’s heart starts pounding in his chest like a fist.

"Harry, your parents were wizards, and they were killed by someone called Lord Voldemort."

Harry misses the way Ed and Tonks flinch at the name. Instead, his whole focus is on two words repeating themselves in his head like a broken record: _wizards killed wizards killed wizards killed_.

His parents were wizards.

His parents were _killed_.

"Who is that?" He asks, voice small. "Who is Lord Voldemort?"

"Don’t say his name," Tonks says, shaking her head. "You don’t understand the power of that word, Harry."

"The wizarding community call him _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ ," Ed supplies. At Harry’s frown, he lets out a single, soft laugh and gives him the lopsided, caring smile Harry is so used to seeing, "I know, kiddo. Trust me, that’s not the most ridiculous thing you’re going to hear tonight."

Harry swallows thickly around a dry lump in his throat. "So. . . this Lord, who is he? Why did he kill my parents?"

"In 1970, the first wizarding war began. Voldemort began building an army, he gathered outcasts; giants, werewolves, goblins, anything that had been wronged by the general wizarding world, he took advantage of. Your parents were part of a resistance, we all were."

"A resistance?" Harry echoes.

Lupin nods. "Voldemort did not have the majority on his side. He had large old families, mostly Slytherins or historically dark families."

"Slytherins?"

"We’ll explain that later," Tonks dismisses.

"I think you’re going to have a lot to explain later," Harry counters. The headache sitting behind his eyes is getting worse and he’s getting too tired to keep reading lips, the hearing in his good ear still mute.

Lupin smiles almost sadly. "A lot has happened in the last couple of decades."

"Is that how long this has been going on?" Teddy asks.

"The You-Know-Who situation, yes. It started before you were born, and ended when. . . it ended the night he came to your house, Harry. It ended the night he killed your parents, and you killed him."

Harry’s eyes widen. "I. . . I k-killed. . ."

"It wasn’t on purpose," Lupin amends. "It couldn’t have been, you were barely one years old."

"Even better," Harry mutters.

"No one knows how you did it, how you _managed_ it. It was impossible, for someone, let alone a baby, to not only survive the killing curse but reflect it onto someone else."

"Excuse me," Harry holds a hand up. "Did you just say, _killing curse?"_

"Yes. Avada Kedavra. It's. . . it is something that is called a forbidden curse. No one, at all, in any recorded magical history has ever survived that curse."

"Except me."

"Yes. Except you, Harry. So, you can imagine why the world was surprised when the darkest wizard was taken down, after years of reigning trouble and havoc, by an infant."

"That's how you got your scar," Tonks adds.

Almost instinctively, Harry's hand comes straight to his forehead.

"Wow," Harry drawls, voice bored. "I feel so special."

Lupin chuckles. "You're pretty damn special. The whole world thinks so too."

"Everyone knows?"

"Of course they do," Tonks grins. "You're famous."

Harry laughs nervously. "Okay. That's fucking great. Absolutely smashing. I'm gonna go now."

Teddy's head snaps towards him. "What?"

"I'm leaving. I'm going back to the home," Harry says, getting to his feet.

"No, no, no, no," Tonks shakes her head. "Harry, you can't go out there."

"Harry, you are pale and hurt and can't hear a damn thing— don't look at me like that, I can tell when you're lip-reading."

"It's coming back now," Harry mutters.

Teddy raises an eyebrow at him. "Sure it is. Harry, those people could still be out there."

"They will almost definitely still be out there," Lupin adds. "You've been seen by both Malfoy's, two Death Eaters. You must stay here."

"No," Harry shakes his head vigorously. "No. This. . . it's too much, it's too weird. I don't. . . I don't _want_ this—"

"Harry, please," Teddy begs, standing up too. "You look a wreck, mate. Honestly, I've never seen you look worse."

"Thanks, Teddy."

"You're very welcome. Please stay, just for tonight. You're safe here."

Harry looks down at Lupin and Tonks, two people, practically two strangers, who have come into his life today and literally turned it around, turned inside out and torn it up all in one. He doesn't want to say it aloud, in case he hurts Teddy or Ed, but he doesn't trust them. He always thought Teddy's parents were sketchy: two healthy young adults who send their kid to live with their grandfather. And now, they're telling Harry he's a famous wizard who defeated a dark lord, the same dark lord who killed his parents instead of them being drunken fools like he's been forced to believe for as long as he can remember.

Harry swallows thickly. He feels exhausted yet wired at the same time.

"Fine," he says, voice soundly surprisingly weak and shaky. "Fine I'll stay tonight."

Teddy nods, telling out a relieved breath. Harry grabs his empty mug, not looking at all their smiling faces as he makes his way into the kitchen. He dumps the mug on the kitchen side and goes out into the back garden. He lights a cigarette, not even thinking about it when he ignites it with the tip of his finger instead of a lighter. Collapsing onto the decking steps, Harry slumps so far over he's not sure he can ever stand straight again.

He's overwhelmed. He feels like an overflowing cup. There's a tingling in his chest like a tickle. His thoughts are scattered, his mind a mess.

He drops his head in his hands and jolts a moment later when he feels something beside him. Looking to the side, he sees old torn blue denim and insanely know.

His shoulders slouch even more. Teddy.

"Hey," Harry whispers.

Teddy sits down beside him, his bare knees sticking out of the rips in the denim of his jeans. They do nothing for a long time. Harry smokes his straight, jabs the dead end into the upturned plant pot they use as a cigarette bin and lights another. He offers one to Teddy, but he sees him shake his head out of the corner of his eye.

A minute later, Teddy's shoulder bumps Harry's and he takes it as a signal that his friend wants to talk, so he looks up at his blue-haired best friend.

"Are you. . . are you okay?" Teddy asks.

"I could be asking you the same thing," Harry replies.

Teddy shrugs, "Yeah, well I'm not the one who just found out he's the saviour of a wizarding world which he had no idea existed because he killed the same dark lord that killed his parents when he was a baby."

"Jesus, when you put it like that it makes sense I have a headache," Harry sighs, rubbing his eyes. He's so damn tired but there is no way his mind is going to let him sleep now. "Look, we've never been ones for comparing tragic backstories, so let's not start now, yeah? We've both got fucked lives, granted mine seems to be getting worse and worse but I wouldn't celebrate having yours, buddy."

Teddy laughs, shaking his head. "I don't. . . I can't even sort it all out in my mind. It's all just. . ."

"Too much."

Teddy nods. "Too much."

Harry finishes his cigarette and stubs it out the same way he did the last. He's cold, his skin chilled and dotted with goosebumps. He didn't put his jumper back on after Ed wrapped his arm, and he is highly regretting it now.

"I'm gonna need to borrow a jumper," Harry says.

He sees Teddy nod, his eyes staring at a knot in the woods decking. He feels a Teddy nudge him again.

"How's your arm?"

Harry shrugs one shoulder. "Head hurts worse, and my ear is still fucked. It's coming back, but everything sounds like we're underwater."

"Damn, that sucks," Teddy replies. "Painkillers and bed?"

Harry shakes his head. "I don't think I can sleep."

"I'm not surprised," Teddy says. "I don't think I can sleep either. I'm all excited, mad and terrified."

Harry snorts. "Join the club. I just. . ." his voice cracks and he looks down at his lap.

A arm wraps around his shoulders and then there's the familiar, warm line of Teddy's side pressed against his own. Silent comfort; it's something they're both very good at.

Harry doesn't know what he feels anymore. His mind is on his parents, every fragment of his thought racing round a mile a minute, too fast to comprehend. For 16 years, his whole conscious life, he has believed his parents were bad people. He was told they were drunks, wastes of space, horrible, _horrible_ people. He was made to believe he was going to be like them, that he was tossed goods with bad blood. He was made to feels small for who the Dursley's made him believe his parents were. For years, he has hated them, loathed them for what they did— what he _thought_ they did.

And now, after all this time, he's been told they were the opposite.

They weren't drunks, they weren't cheats or scum or assholes. They didn't drive off the road and wrap their car around a tree like a pretzel with Harry in the back, giving him what he believed to be the cause of his forehead scar. No— they were good people, fighting a good cause. Harry doesn't know exactly what happened the night his parents died, and he's kind of glad Lupin didn't explain it in as much detail as he probably could of. Harry has had nightmares of a woman screaming and a flash of green light, blinding pain in his scar but he just believed it was some form of memory from the crash. Could it be from _that_ night?

Harry holds his hand up, and a moment later, barely with any conscious thought, there's a flame on the tip of his finger.

He watches it flicker and shimmer, glowing golden and bright.

"Wizards," he murmurs.

Teddy bums his shoulder, and Harry can just about hear him when he echoes,

"Fucking wizards."

 

 _— tbc_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have to come back and edit this later. The length of it bothers me.


	6. london's burning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, sorry this chapter has taken so long. I've spent the last few months finishing college and both my jobs and am currently travelling around Europe on a 4 week holiday, so I haven't had much time to write. Regardless, I've had a few night trains this week and being the insomniac I am haven't been able to sleep at the train station so ta-da! A new and entirely belated chapter 6!

6

Harry wakes up with an ache in his head and a throbbing in his arm. It isn't the first time he's come to awareness with his head feeling like his brain has been replaced by rattling marbles, but it sure as hell doesn't suck any less. 

He peels his eyes open, forcing them to focus on the blurry surroundings. He's on Teddy's bedroom floor - a place he's slept many times before. He recognises the legs of the bed frame and the shoe boxes under the slats that are filled with nick-knacks and odd belongings. Harry rolls from his side to his back, and the world not only comes into focus but also the sound of Teddy's light snoring and the hum of occasional traffic from outside. The blinds are closed and thin slits of dull winter light shine through onto the ceiling. 

Harry sits up slowly, closing his eyes to the way his head feels tight with dizziness. He breathes deeply through his nose, swiping his glasses off the floor by his shoes and scrunched up jacket and jeans. He stands, letting out a soft groan as his stiff limbs ease and joints click, the sound not disturbing Teddy in the slightest. 

Teddy's room is large yet filled. His walls are covered in band posters and pictures, drawings and doodles from Harry. There is a bookcase with little books and mostly mess, his wardrobe doors ajar with sleeves and shoes blocking the doors from closing, overflowing with clothes. The desk is a mess of college papers and a dead laptop sitting beneath them all, a record player on one side with a  _Prince_ vinyl sitting on the deck. The tallest tower of ever-growing vinyls and records are stacked next to the desk, barely balanced between the wall and the desk legs. Harry glances at the clock that reads  _7:34AM_ and stumbles slightly, feeling vertigo, to the bedroom door and slips out. The hallway is lit with the grey winter clouds from outside, shadows reflecting on the walls and carpeted floor. Harry creeps down the hallway, past the closed guest bedroom, bathroom and office doors. The house is silent, the residents sleeping as Harry creeps down the varnished wooden stairs like he has done many times before. The familiar white painted walls and caramel wooden floor is more of a home to him than the orphanage or Surrey ever has been to him. 

His socked feet slide and pad into the kitchen and finds Ed sitting at the breakfast bar, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and eyes on a paper. He looks up when Harry comes in. 

"Morning," Harry rasps, his voice coming out barely a cracking croak. 

"Morning, kiddo," Ed smiles, taking his glasses off. Something in Harry's chest tightens when Ed calls him 'kiddo'. The events of last night still weighing heavily on his mind. "The kettles just boiled, coffee?"

"I can do it," Harry says when Ed shows signs of getting up. He walks with familiarity around the kitchen, grabbing a mug and pouring the boiling water in with the coffee grounds. 

Rounding the bar so he's standing opposite Ed, he pulls out his box of straights and places one between his lips. He turns, intending to go outside to smoke, when Ed folds his paper in half and says, "Don't worry about going outside, Harry. You can smoke in here."

Harry raises a surprised eyebrow. "Since when?"

"Since the events of last night make me believe that I don't want to send you out in the cold to smoke the cigarette," he replies. His lips quirk at the corner, "Just don't tell Teddy, or he'll take it as a granted to do in here all the time."

Harry decides not to tell Ed about all the times Teddy has smoked inside the house, half hanging out the window and instead, he lights his cigarette with a lighter and inhales the bitter, ashy chemicals into his lungs. 

"How are you feeling this morning?" Ed asks after a minute of silence. 

Harry shrugs a bony shoulder. "I'm alright."

Ed hums. "And how are you  _really_ feeling?"

Harry looks up through thick eyelashes. Ed, like Teddy, always knows when Harry is bullshitting them. Sometimes he appreciates it, likes the way it makes him feel like he's cared enough by someone for them to take the time to read him, and other times, like now, he doesn't because he really  _doesn't_ want to talk. 

He shrugs again. "Arms sore, head aches. Kinda missing my toothbrush. . ."

Ed chuckles softly. "And how do you feel about what happened?"

Harry feels his shoulders tense. For a long while, he doesn't look up from a spec of dust on the kitchen counter top, but when he does, he schools his features as much as he can. He meets Ed's old and wide eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Ed blinks, though he doesn't look surprised by the question. "Tell you what?"

Harry huffs a humourless laugh. "What do you think? Why didn’t you tell me about who I am?"

Ed has the decency to look apologetic as he sighs. He nods, "That’s a fair question."

"You knew," Harry whispers. "This whole  _fucking_ time, you knew, didn’t you? You knew my real name, you knew about my parents, about what I can do."

Ed nods slowly. "Yes, Harry. I did know."

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

Ed sighs again, a heavy, tired sigh like he knew this conversation was coming for a long time. "I couldn’t do that to you, Harry. I had my suspicions when I first met you when you were just a child, but that’s the problem - you were just a  _child_ . I couldn’t get you involved in all of this, Harry. You. . . you have no idea the mess the wizarding world is in, how much of a childhood you wouldn’t have gotten if they’d discovered you were still alive."

Harry wants to snap that he hasn’t had much of a childhood anyways - shipped out of an abusive home to fall into a neglectful one where he had to learn to either take the punches or find a way to fight back, but then he remembers everything he wouldn’t have if Ed  _had_ told him. He wouldn’t have met Teddy, wouldn’t have met Derek, Stevie, Shaun or Kyle. 

"You did it to protect me," Harry murmurs.

Ed smiles. "Of course I did."

"Why?"

Ed’s smile doesn’t falter, but it does turn sad. "Because you’re like one of my own, Harry. You. . . you have no idea how much the people around you really care about you. I couldn’t throw you into the mess the wizarding world was, what I knew it was going to become. You were safer here, where they couldn’t control you, where  _he_ couldn’t find you when he came back."

"You knew he was going to come back?"

"He was a man of many sins, but he wasn’t an idiot," Ed replies. "What you did as a baby was an impossibly miracle, but I had no doubts that a man with so many enemies and such a strong  want  for what he was trying to do, I knew there must have been a back-up plan, a way for him to get around if someone succeeded in killing him."

"Is that possible?"

Ed smiles. "He did it, didn’t he?"

"Resurrection," Harry whistles, finishing his coffee. "That’s fucking impossible."

"Harry, you have been moving things with your mind since you were a child and your best friend can turn his hair different colours by closing his eyes. Is anything really impossible now?"

Harry laughs. "I guess not. So. . . magic, huh? How long have you been hiding yours?"

"There are many places in London I have been able to go where I can still use my magic."

"Really?" Harry perks up. "Where?"

"You’ll find out soon enough," Ed says, picking up their mugs and going back to the kettle. "I can imagine Remus and Tonks will explain much more to you and Teddy today. Another mug?"

"Please."

"Black with two sugars still?"

Harry hums in confirmation. "You got work today?"

"Soon, yes," Ed replies, refilling their cups. "Never normally have company in the morning, far too early for Ted."

Harry smiles. "Yeah, well, he's a lazy git. You know me, early bird all the way."

"Would have thought you'd sleep a little later after last night," Ed muses. 

"I'm just surprised I slept at all," Harry replies, taking the mug when it's handed to him. "Struggle enough to sleep even when I'm not attacked and told I'm a damn wizard," he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever said." 

Ed buffs a laugh, sipping his own tea. "Brace yourself for more ridiculous things, kid. Nothing is impossible in the world you're about to enter."

"I hope you realise that is not assuring."

Ed grins and winks, "Wasn't meant to be."

Harry looks down at his coffee, the whiskey brown colour and his his bony hands cupping the heated cereamic mug. 

"What's gonna happen now?" He asks, voice suddenly small. When he looks up, Ed, who was beginning to potter around the kitchen before he goes for work, has stopped and is looking at him gently, his eyes soft and face patient. "What's gonna happen now they know I'm alive?"

Ed blows out a heavy sigh. "I don't know, kiddo. I really. . . you're gonna cause a bit of up-roar, not going to lie. It's a miracle you're even alive, people are gonna be happy about it but they're also gonna be scared. The wizarding world isn't what it once was, it's scattered and petrified."

"Great," Harry breathes. "One would think your life would get better when you find out you're a famous wizard."

"You're famous, alright. That's gonna hit you more than the wizarding part, I bet."

Ed is right - Harry's an alley cat, he lives in the shadows. He's used to going unseen, going unheard. He's not sure how he feels at the idea of everyone thinking about his dead parents. 

"It's gonna be hard, isn't it?" Harry asks quietly. He forces himself to meet Ed's eyes, has to tell himself this is Ed, Teddy's granddad, his own family figure. This is the man who's cleaned his bruises and wrapped his scrapes, who's attended his parents evenings when Sylvia wouldn't do it, who's held him while he's cried and listened to him while he shouts. This is a man who he trusts, who he'd put his life in their hands and jump in front of a bullet for. 

"Yes," Ed replies, nodding as a silent way to say  _I won't be lying to you anymore_. "But you're not going to be alone."

Harry nods, drinking his still hot and scaling coffee but needing something to do. His hands feel twitchy, his stomach uneasy. He pulls out his box again and says, "Do you mind?"

Ed holds both his hands up. "I didn't see anything," he says, winking before grabbing his mug and leaving the room. 

As Harry lights his cigarette, this time with the tip of his finger, he hears the sound of mumbling in the hallway, hushed and garbled, before Remus is stepping into the kitchen. Harry looks over his shoulder to look at him, takes a drag of his cigarette and takes that as his que to make his way outside. 

His hand is on the back door when Remus breaks the silence. 

"Harry. . ." he says, and when Harry looks across at him, he seems to become almost nervous. He opens his mouth, but it takes a long time to make any sound. "I just. . . I hope last night hasn't tarnished your opinion of me."

"There was nothing to tarnish," Harry replies. "You're Teddy's dad, that's all I've ever known of you."

"Yes, but our first impressions weren't as they should have been when meeting my sons best friend," Remus smiles. "I just wanted to apologise for how it happened, for how much we had to throw at you in one night."

"Don't apologise yet," Harry says. "I've got a feeling there's a lot more you're going to be throwing at me soon. Right?"

"I'm afraid so. Today, actually," Remus nods. "We're going to go and meet a few people who will be able to explain a lot better than I can."

"Sounds great," Harry says, forcing himself to smile and knows it looks as bitter as it feels. Before Remus can react, Harry opens the back door and steps out into the crisp cold morning air. He shivers instantly, wrapping his arms around his middle and regretting not grabbing his jacket from Teddy's bedroom floor. His jumper does little breaking the icy whispers of cold seeping into his skin. 

He closes his eyes. He doesn't know if it's shock or disbelief, but he doesn't feel as overwhelmed about the things he's learnt as he figures he should be. 

It's not long before the door opens behind him, and unlike the night before, he hears the pad of bare feet approaching him on the wooden decking. He doesn't need to look over his shoulder to know it's Teddy. 

He sits down with a groan and hands Harry a mug and another jumper. 

"You're a f'king prat coming out here in that shit-thin thing," he greets. 

"Good morning to you too," Harry replies, taking the mug and putting it between his feet before shrugging on the jumper on top of his own. Instantly, he can feel the difference: Teddy's jumpers are always huge on him due to their different builds, swallowing him whole even as a second layer. "Thanks, by the way."

"No problem," Teddy nudges his shoulder. "How's your ear? Guessing you can hear now?"

"It's fine," Harry nods. He holds the packet of straights out for Teddy, "Want one?"

Teddy looks over his shoulder into the house. "I probably shouldn’t. Dad’s in there, he might see."

"Not to be a bad influence, but don’t you think after everything we found out last night, after everything they’ve lied about, that they don’t really have the right to be annoyed at you for this?"

Teddy looks back at him and smirks. "You are a bad influence. Gimme one of those."

Harry flashes him a grin when Teddy swipes one and places it between his lips. He fishes out the lighter of his trouser pocket but Teddy shakes his head. "What?"

"Do it with your finger," Teddy says, holding a finger up and jabbing it in the air. "Do the sparky thing."

Harry blinks. "The 'sparky thing'?"

"You know what I mean!" Teddy laughs, still wiggling his finger. "Come on, man. Spark me up!"

"Oh my God," Harry laughs, "Fine just  stop  talking!"

Teddy places the cigarette gently between his lips and watches with wide, child-like eyes as Harry reaches over, igniting the end with a soft crackle. 

He inhales audibly, the end glowing orange as tiny flakes of ash fall off. He takes the cigarette out and as he exhales a mouthful of smoke, he murmurs, "Damn."

Harry rolls his eyes. "You sound like you've never seen stuff like that before."

"But you've never done it to me."

Harry blinks and looks down. "You never asked me to, didn't really wanna come up to you and shove my flaming finger in your face."

Teddy grins with all his pearly white teeth. They finish their cigarettes just in time for the door to open again and for Teddy’s father to stick his head out.

"I’ve made everyone teas," he says, smiling. "Do you boys want to come in?"

Harry looks to Teddy, hoping his face doesn't read the panic he's feeling. Going inside means having to talk to Teddy's father, and the idea of doing that makes his hands tingle like when he lights cigarettes with his finger. 

Teddy looks back at his dad and shrugs one shoulder. "Sure, dad. We'll be in in a sec, okay?"

Remus just smiles and goes back inside. 

Teddy looks back at Harry. "You gonna be good, mate?"

Harry just nods. "I'm fine."

Teddy snorts, "Yeah, and my hair is blue because I dye it. Come on, you prat."

Harry follows Teddy inside and finds both his parents there: dressed and smiling. It's then that Harry finally notices  _what_ they're wearing: his father in a tweed suit that looks like something out of Oxford 1985 and his mother's hair drags his attention away from her clothes every time he looks at her. 

"Do you guys want some breakfast?" His mother asks as they sit down at the breakfast bar. It feels suddenly too much like a domestic setting, like a family and Harry's skin itches to get out of it. Remus slides them both their mugs and Harry clings to the burning hot cup to hide the shaking of his hands. 

"I can get some myself, mum —"  Teddy starts, getting up when Tonks shakes her head. 

"I'll get it," she grins. "What do you want?"

"I was just gonna get some Coco Pops. . ." Teddy murmurs, pointing to the cupboard they're in beside the sink. Tonks grins as she gets out the stick—  _ wand _ , and she points it at the cupboard. The door swings open silently and a bowl floats out, carrying through the air weightlessly and softy clinking on the side in front of Teddy, who's jaw is dropped to the floor. His mother grins wider when she does the same to the cereal cupboard and the Coco Pops cardboard box floats out, drifting through the air as if attached to a string. It tilts in the air, and the Coco Pops pour out into the bowl without a hitch. When it's full, Tonks flicks her wand and it does back into the cupboard. 

"Milk?" She asks. 

Teddy doesn't take his eyes off the bowl when she nods. 

The milk carton in the fridge does the same, and if possible, Teddy's jaw seems to drop even wider. 

Tonks giggles as she places down a spoon that seemed to disappear out of thin air. 

"Impressed?" Remus asks, smiling. 

Teddy nods and dives into the milky cereal. 

"Harry, what would you like?"

Harry shakes his head. "I'm not hungry, thanks."

Tonks' smile falters a smidge, small enough that it's not a change in face but enough that Harry notices. She pockets her wand and sips her tea. 

"We’re going out today," Remus says, "All of us."

"'Us', as in the four of us?" Teddy asks.

"Yes, Teddy. All four of us."

"Where exactly are we going?" Harry asks. 

"A place that is a doorway to Diagon Alley."

Harry blinks. He looks at Teddy to confirm that the other teen is as confused as he is. "I’ve lived in London for six years and I have  _never_ heard of Diagon Alley."

"You wouldn’t have, it’s not a Muggle street," Tonks grins, wiggling her eyebrows as if revealing a mischievous secret.

"Diagon Alley is a hidden Wizarding street in London that is full of shops and businesses," Remus continues, "To get to it we have to go into a pub called the Leaky Cauldron."

"Why are we going shopping?" 

Remus shakes his head. "We’re not going shopping. We’re going to meet some people in the Leaky Cauldron."

"Who are we meeting?"

Remus sighs, clearly getting sick on the constant questions but Harry couldn’t care less - his teasing is the reason they’re badgering him to explain everything.

"We’re meeting three wizards called Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall. They’re all teachers at Hogwarts."

"Dumbledore is in fact the headmaster," Tonks adds. 

Remus nods. "They’re going to help us decide what we do next."

Harry puts his mug down and raises an eyebrow. "Do next? Do  _what_ next?"

"Are you honestly surprised?" Remus asks. "Harry, everything we discussed last night, there is so much more you do not know. Dumbledore will explain much better than me or Dora can."

_Why does he need to explain anything?_ Harry wonders.  _Why does anything have to change?_

Instead, Harry flashes a tense, forced smile. "Can’t wait."

Remus exchanges looks with Tonks before looking back at Harry, his eyes soft and sad. "I’m sorry, Harry. I know this is tough—"

"Yeah, I’m starting to think you don’t know anything at all," Harry interrupts, beginning to stand. "That’s why your’e dragging in your school friends, right? Because you don’t know how to explain this fuck-up you’re making us go into? Can’t fucking wait."

Harry storms out of the kitchen, heart rabbiting in his chest, speeding like it’s gone haywire. His hands shake as they skim over the stair-rails and his legs feel like jelly as they leap up and up until he’s falling through Teddy’s bedroom door and collapsing on the floor. 

He balls his hands: he wants to hit something, he needs an outlet of the all-consuming  _fire_ inside of him. He feels like a pulse is thrumming through his entire body. Every single inch of his skin, his nerves, his muscles are all tingling, sensitive and active like he’s a bare fuse ready to spark. He feels both exhausted and yet energised, overwhelmed. He feels hollow yet overflowing, like a blocked sink with the tap till running at its heaviest. 

His hands feel hot, and when he looks down he see’s his closed fists in envelopes of flames. He gasps, not in pain but surprise, his hands looking like balls of fire on the ends of his arms. On instinct, he dashes out of the bedroom, pushing the bathroom door open and shoving his hands into the sink. He doesn’t realise he’s thinking it until he watches the tap turn and cold water pours out, flooding the sink and plunging his hands into a small bath. 

The fire ceases immediately. His hands are black as if they’re charred. Harry can’t remember how to breathe. His lungs feel like it’s cemented still, his chest heavy and unmoving. His ribs feel too tight, his heart like a caged animal fighting to get out.

His blood is roaring in his ears when he shakily, hands still in the water, rubs his fingers together. The black char comes away like ink, swirling in the water.

He pulls his hands out: they’re pale and clean, no burns or ash or mark.

Nothing.

"What the fuck."

Spinning around, his hands still out and dripping wet, Harry finds Teddy at the door.

"Shit," Harry whispers. "Did you—"

"I saw," Teddy nods. "Are you okay? What the fuck was that?"

Harry doesn’t know if Teddy is asking about his exit downstairs or his hands. He shakes his head and answers both in one, "I. . . I don’t know."

Teddy looks from his face to his hands to his face again. He opens his mouth to speak, but that’s what Harry notices something. He steps forward, hands trembling as he reaches up and moves the door slightly. Teddy frowns and steps inside to see too.

A charred hand-shape is burnt into the door, fingers reaching around by the handle: exactly where Harry had grabbed to yank the door open in his panicked haste. The fire didn’t burn Harry, but it burnt the door.

"Shit," Harry whispers again.

"Indeed," Teddy breathes. He runs a hand through his hand and Harry see’s him look across at him out of the corner of his eyes. "Dude, what happened?"

"I have no idea."

"Do you want to ask my dad?"

"Absolutely not," Harry shakes his head. "Today is hard enough already."

"Mate, maybe he should know. . ."

"Not yet," Harry looks at his best friend. "Please, Teddy. Just. . . don’t tell him yet. Let me process this before he starts going on about it."

"Do you think it means something?"

"I think it means I was fucking overwhelmed and my hands turned into balls of fire," Harry snaps. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Damn. I’m sorry.  Shit , I’m sorry, Teddy. I—"

"Stop apologising, you big oaf. None of this is your fault. I’d be a bit snappy if I were you too. I  want  to be snappy, but I still feel so tired I don’t have the energy to care about anything yet."

Harry smiles tiredly. "You’re the oaf."

Teddy looks at him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Harry bares his teeth and grins. "You heard me, you oa—"

He’s cut off when Teddy tackles him, catching him off balance and they both go stumbling back into bath. They tumble, falling rears first into the tub, legs hooked and stuck over the edge, body’s folded in half. Harry squeals and cries as Teddy continues to tickle his sides, his head locked under his arm.

"Boys, what’s going—"

Teddy’s mum cuts herself off when she sticks her head in the room and see’s them both in the tub. She raises one eyebrow and smirks, "You two alright in there?"

"We’re fine," Teddy grins. "Just reminding Harry who’s the boss in the relationship."

Harry gasps and cusses him across the back of the head. Teddy yelps and jabs his hand into Harry’s ribs, causing the smaller boy to squirm away.

Tonks rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning like a child. "Get up and out. Your dad won’t stop going on about how he wants to leave soon."

When she disappears, Harry, who is out of breath and panting, rolls his heavy head along the frame of the bath to look at Teddy and says, "I think we can confirm who is clearly the fun parent."

"Immature, more like. Mum reminds me more of a teenager than I do myself," Teddy says, grunting as he pulls himself out of the tub. He holds a hand for Harry, "Your majesty?"

Harry grins, slapping the hand away and climbs out himself. "Bite me, oaf."

"If you insist."

 

They head out 10 minutes later. Harry feels oddly exposed as they walk down the streets, his shoulders hunched, hands stuffed in his coat pockets. He looks frequently over his shoulders, paranoid about anyone being behind him. His arm tingles when he thinks about those two people still being out loose. Teddy must notice his evident physical paranoia as he begins to walk closer to Harry, their shoulders practically touching and when Harry meets his eyes, his eyebrows twitch in the silent question  _'are you okay, mate?' _. Harry nods at him in reply and that's that. 

Originally, Harry thought they were heading to the tube station, but when they’re almost there, Teddy’s parents drag them into the mouth of an alley way between two tall buildings. 

"What are we—" Teddy starts, but his mother holds her finger to her lips in a 'shushing' motion. 

"We aren’t going by train, love. Wizards have a far more efficient way of travelling around," she winks and grabs ahold of her sons hand.

Teddy looks slightly bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

"There’s nothing to be scared of, kiddo," Remus says, holding his hand out to Harry. When Harry just looks between the hand extended to him and the man, he adds, "You’re going to want to hold on tight."

"And if I don’t?"

" _Then_ it will hurt."

Harry’s eyes widen slightly and he grabs ahold of Teddy’s father’s hand. He met Teddy’s eyes, but the moment his skin touched Remus’ everything went black like the lights had been turned out. He suddenly felt like he was being forced through a tight, claustrophobic tube. He was being pressed hard from all sides, his chest crushed and collapsed as if stuck in an iron clamp. He felt like he was falling, he wanted to scream but all he was aware of was his skull feeling like it was going to explode and his eyes being pushed to the back of his skull.

It was over as quick as it started. Harry suddenly stumbled back, a gasp escaping him now oxygen could finally reach his released lungs. A hand tightened on his wrist, stopping him from falling over completely. Vertigo swamped him entirely.

"Fuck," he wheezes, shaking the dizziness from his head. He hears retching and looks to his side to see Teddy vomiting against a dustbin, Tonks rubbing his back. He blinks a few times, swallowing around his dry mouth. He looks at Remus, who’s hand is still on his wrist, "What the hell was that?"

The older man smiles sympathetically. "That was Apparition. It’s a form of teleportation."

"That sucked."

"It’s not the most pleasant feeling, I’ll admit," Remus looks at him closely. "Do you feel okay?"

"I feel like my whole body just got shoved through a very small tube," Harry shudders as he looks back at Teddy, who’s still bent over the bin. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Believe it or not, that’s a fairly normal reaction."

After a few moments, Teddy and Tonks come over. 

Teddy, who’s face is as white as a sheet and eyes red, grumbles, "Remind me again why we couldn’t just get the damn tube?"

"That way was quicker."

"Did you not see what it just did to me?"

"It gets less intense the more you do it," Tonks explains. "You were also Apparating alongside us, which emphasises the feeling of being. . ." She waves her hands around in a motion that Harry gathers as being squashed in a very tight clamp.

"I don’t want to do that again," Teddy shakes his head, hand on his stomach and still looking a little bit green. 

"Don’t worry, love," Tonks rubs his arm. "We won’t do it again for a while."

Teddy shakes his head again and flashes Harry a look that makes the younger teen chuckle.

"Well," he looks between the two adults, "Where are we?"

"Charing Cross Road," Remus replies. "It’s the street the Leaky Cauldron is on."

"Fabulous."

They head out of the alley they’d Apparated onto and join the busy street traffic. It’s not even a minute before they find themselves outside a dingy looking pub on the corner with chipping red brick work and centuries-old painted wooden 

Harry slows to a stop outside and looks up at the shabby building and its dirty windows. It looks like a run-down pub, old and crumbling on it’s old structure. 

Harry looks across at Teddy, who’s slowed to a stop too, and the pair exchange a silent, mirrored confused look.

"Come on, boys," Remus says. "We can’t stop out here. Muggles can’t see the pub, we need to go in as soon as possible to avoid suspicion. Plus, we don’t know who could be watching."

The memory of those two people flash behind Harry’s eyes suddenly. He has to force himself to breathe through the sudden choking of panic gripping his throat. Harry walks behind Teddy into the pub that is dark and old, with odd wooden chairs and rickety tables. There are low hanging, iron, candle-lit chandeliers above the tables, mis-matching picture frames cover the faded white painted walls. There’s a bar with all the stools taken, a few people smoking pipes and some drinking out of pint glasses. It looks like an old, abandoned version of the pub Harry works in with Derek’s dad.

Remus leads them all to the edge of the bar where the bartender is wiping down the surface. 

"Greetings, Tom," Remus says.

Tom, a stocky hand with balding grey hair, seems initially surprised by Remus’ and Tonks’ appearance in the pub. He quickly smiles, rushing to shake both their hands. "Remus, Nymphadora, what a pleasure to see you both!"

"A pleasure to see you too, Tom," Tonks smiles, and Harry has to stop himself from wondering why the woman doesn’t bite him for calling her by her whole name. 

"And who are these?" Tom asks, looking between the two adults towards Harry and Teddy. 

"Tom, this is our son, Teddy," Remus claps a hand on Teddy's shoulder, the action almost too father-son that Harry can see Teddy squirm slightly. "And this," he looks towards Harry, "is his friend."

Tom looks at Harry, his gaze too calculating, too in depth. Harry can see him mapping every inch of his face, detecting the features as if he's seen him before.

"Why aren't they in Hogwarts?" Tom asks. 

Remus flusters for a moment. "Ah, we really don't have time to chat. We're here on business."

Tom nods, seeming un-insulted at the change in subject. He looks between the two adults, still smiling. "What brings you to the Leaky Cauldron? It’s been years since I’ve seen you both."

"It’s been far too long since we paid you a visit, Tom, but we’re here to see some specific guests," Tonks explains. "I’m sure they owled ahead."

Tom nods. "They sure did. They’re upstairs, room 11. Hope everything’s alright for you folks."

Tonks smiles. "Everything’s fine, Tom, thank you."

"If I get you guys anything, gimme a shout," Tom smiles before he’s flashing them a wave and heading down the bar to serve someone.

"Come on, boys," Remus says as he guides them both towards the staircase in the wall in the corner. Harry looks at the people they pass and every single eye is on him, calculating and scrutinising. "Keep your head down, Harry," Remus whispers in his ear.

Harry doesn’t know why, but he listens almost submissively and lowers his head, eyes on the floor like a shoplifter passing a security guard. His shoulders automatically hunch up to his shoulders like a protective shield around his neck and head. 

He watches Teddy's back as they make their way up some rickety concrete steps to a second floor. Teddy slows to a stop and looks behind him at them just as Remus steps past Harry and looks at each door, eventually finding room 11.

"In here, boys," he says to them, before he’s turning the door knob and stepping inside. 

The room is small and cosy. A double bed on the parallel wall to the large, clear glass window. The wooden floor boards are old and the tanned wood is chipped in places. 

A woman sits on the bed, her grey hair pulled back in a low bun beneath a crooked witches hat. She has a long face, with large green eyes and thin lips in a straight, stern line. Harry’s eyes linger on her tartan green robes.

A man stands behind her, thin, tall and dressed in black robes like a dark shadow. His crooked nose stands out on his sallow, gaunt face. His greasy, shoulder-length black hair hangs either side of his face like curtains, framing his scowling expression.

Another man stands by the window, hands behind his back and gaze on something outside. His silver hair and beard reach down to his waist, his robes are ruby red and a pair of half-moon glasses are balanced on his slightly crooked nose.

It looks like a Halloween costume store threw up on all three of them. 

All their heads turn towards the door when Harry and Teddy walk inside and Harry feels like for the second time in 24 hours a spotlight beam has been shone on him. 

The old man in the red robes turns away from the window and faces them. His face, for a short moment, is agape, his eyes almost disbelieving on Harry.

"It's true," he whispers, so quiet it's merely a whisper. 

The woman stands up, "Harry, Teddy, please, allow us to introduce ourselves. My name is Minerva McGonagall, behind me is Severus Snape, and this is Albus Dumbledore."

Teddy nods beside him. "You all work at Hogwarts."

McGonagall nods. "We do."

Harry suddenly put two dots together: "You were both at college, a few days ago," he looks at the gloomy man at the back, "I saw you in my art class."

"Yes, we were visiting London on a class trip," McGonagall replies. "I assure you, we are more surprised to see you than you are to see us."

"I wouldn’t be so sure about that," Harry murmurs, looking between them. "You all look like Halloween’s come early."

He hears Remus and Tonks chuckle, but the man at the back of the room’s scowl grows almost anomalistical. There’s a flutter in Harry’s chest at the idea of angering the human black cloud. 

"Remus has made us aware of your history, Mr Potter."

"Call me Harry," Harry replies. He doesn’t know what makes him more uncomfortable: being called 'Mr', or being called 'Potter' when for so long, he’s been Evans.

"My apologies, Harry," McGonagall corrects, nodding. "It’s good to finally meet you."

"Why don’t we all sit down," Dumbledore suggests. "I think we need to have a chat, and we don’t want to be standing up for that."

Within a blink of an eye, the bed has transformed into a table and set of chairs. Harry blinks, just to double check that what he’s seeing is actually real. 

He’s pretty sure he’s losing his damn mind.

He’s the last to move as everyone approaches the table and begins to sit down. He situates himself almost attached to Teddy’s side, Tonks on his other and the three teachers opposite. 

"Harry, Teddy, we apologise for the circumstances our meeting has come about," Dumbledore begins. "I never imagined I was to meet either of you when the Wizarding World is in the state it is in. I'm not sure how much Remus and Tonks have told you, but you are both in grave danger. The news of Harry's existence is still currently under wraps, but I have no doubt that it will not take long to make it's way through the Wizarding World."

"Harry, would you mind explaining now you ended up in London?" McGonagall asks, and Harry knows she is actually asking how he ended up here instead of Surrey where they believed he'd died. 

"The Dursley's sent me here when I was 10," Harry replies with a single shoulder shrug. 

"Where did they send you exactly? Why?"

"A home. Orphanage, to be precise. As for why. . . do you know the Dursley's?"

The three share a glance. 

"Yes, we knew them."

"Then you know why," Harry states simply - if they know who the Dursley's were then they know what they were like, and therefore should have no confusion has to why they were willing to ship Harry off at the closest chance like a parcel. 

"Harry, are you aware of the Dursley house fire?" McGonagall asks gently, almost sympathetically. 

Harry inclines one eyebrow. "Yes. They died in a house fire a year after they sent me here. I know, I am 'aware'."

He knows he sounds like an ass. He knows, that somewhere in his blood, they were his family, but it's hard to be sympathetic to a trio of people who abused you for nine years of your life for simply existing and then shipping you to London with a new identity.

"Ah," the lady sighs. "You know then. And do you mind me asking, Harry, why you never went as Harry Potter after you moved here?"

"Because they changed my name to Harry Evans."

"And you didn't want to change it back?"

Harry is quiet for a long moment. "It wasn't like I had much of a choice. But no, I wouldn't have changed it back," he shrugs, "Evans was my mother's name."

Harry can't read the expressions on the teachers faces, but he's almost certain they look upset. Harry knows he's supposedly 'famous' in their world, so maybe him giving up his last name will diminish or disguise his fame a little. 

"How much has been explained to you about the Wizarding world?" Dumbledore asks. 

"Probably a very small fraction, but it felt like hell of a lot last night," Teddy replies. 

Dumbledore hums. "That's to be expected. You both have a lot to learn. Harry, I would like you to tell us what happened during your encounters with the Wizards trying to attack you."

"I was walking home from the pub and they were just standing in the street, like in the middle of the road. I thought it was some kind of gang thing and was waiting for some others to appear. They blasted this like. . . light at me and I don't know what I did but I just threw my hands up and blocked it, I guess."

"You blocked it? With your hands?" The black-cloud asks. 

Harry nods. "It was like this shield went up."

"What colour was this light, Harry?" Dumbledore asks. 

"Uh. . . a light blue I think. It shattered the pavement when it fit it."

"Stupefy," the black-cloud murmurs. "Not surprising."

"What happened next?"

"They kept firing them, and I kept doing this blocking think. I created like this white light from my hand and I hit the guy with it. He went flying back and when he didn't get back up, I turned around to make a run for it and the woman was there. She moved so fast I thought I imagined it. She pointed a stick at me and that blue light thing happened again. I kind of blocked it and she went flying backwards."

"It was not a  _stick_ , Pot—. . . Harry. That was a wand," the black-cloud snaps, and Harry manages to school the features on his face at the guy almost calling him Potter. 

"Right. A wand then."

"What happened next?"

"I made a run for the underground. I don't know what they did but the car beside me exploded. Some glass hit my arm and my ear felt like it was blasted off my head. I got down onto the platform and jumped on the train. It was pulling away before they even got down there."

Dumbledore nods. "Harry, you have to understand what you did was very impressive."

"Did you miss the part where I almost got my head blown off?"

The headmaster smiles almost kindly, clearly amused. "No, I didn't miss that part. How is your arm and your ear?"

"Fine."

"Good, then I can proceed to congratulate you on your ability to use remarkable wandless and nonverbal magic without an ounce of lessons."

"You mean all wizards use wands?"

"Yes, Harry. It is impossible to use magic without a wand, or at least, it  was ."

"Yeah, well, I seem to be doing lots of things people thought were impossible. What's next, flying?"

"You can learn how to fly a broom, yes."

"You. . .  _what?_ I was. . . that was a joke," Harry finishes lamely. 

"Did you say  _broom_?" Teddy adds. 

Dumbledore grins. "You have a lot to learn about your world, abilities and heritages, children. Harry, do you know who the people that attacked you are?"

"They're Death Eaters."

"They are, yes. Do you know what Death Eaters do?"

"They follow Vold—"

"Potter!" The black-cloud snaps. 

"Uh,  _Evans_."

"Harry," McGonagall says, "that word is not one to be thrown around. Please, out of respect, do  not say that word."

Dumbledore leans forward slightly. "Harry, you are a very important person in our world. It comes with my deepest sadness that it has taken us this long to be made aware of you existence that for so long, was so believed was no more. It is on our best interest and for your best safety, that you and Teddy come to Hogwarts castle for the duration of the year."

"What?" Harry and Teddy say in stereo unison. 

"It is the only place that will be safe for you both now your identities have been revealed to the Death Eaters."

"But what about our lives here?" Harry asks. "What about college? Work? Our friends?"

"Very modest of you to be worried about your college and work commitments," black-cloud comments, and Harry is starting to suspect he was only brought here to slip in sarcastic jabs whenever he felt like it. 

Harry narrows his eyes at the man. "Work pays the bills and college is important,  _Snape_."

The man jerks like he'd been slapped by Harry's spit of his name, and his scowl deepens. 

"I know this is going to be a huge adjustment for you both, but you won't need jobs where you are going, or need to pay your bills. You can write letters to your friends, that's not a problem, but your safety is a priority and right now, London is not safe."

"What about grandad?" Teddy asks his parents. "If London's not safe, where is he going to go?"

"Your grandfather will stay here. He has a life here, and wards and plenty of protection that enables him to work here undetected," Remus replies. 

" We have lives here," Harry counters. "Why can't we stay with Ed? If he has so much protection on his house, surely we'll be safe there."

"Harry, it's very hard to explain—"

"To put it lightly," Snape interrupts, "if you stay with Ed you will be putting him in more danger."

Harry feels Teddy stiffen against him. Putting Ed in danger? Harry doesn't think he could live with himself if something happened to Ed and it was his fault. 

"So what your saying really, if we don't have a choice," Harry says. 

"You always have a choice, Harry," Dumbledore replies, nodding. "I just trust you to make the right one."

Something in Dumbledore's kind eyes and soft expression doesn't add up to Harry. He's hiding something, there's something in his twinkling eyes that are hiding some truth. Harry doesn't trust people who don't tell the truth. 

"Fine. But I have one thing."

"What is it?"

"Tell me why."

Dumbledore doesn't look confused, just tilts his head to one side and asks, "Why, what, my dear boy?"

"Why me?" Harry asks. "Why did he come after me that night. Why was he so intent on killing  _me_?"

Dumbledore stares at him for a long moment, his expression entirely unreadable. 

"That, I will tell you when you are Hogwarts."

"Why not now?"

"Because you have enough to process for now, and it is not something I want to discuss where anyone could be listening."

"What now, then?" Teddy asks. 

"Now, you go pack. Harry, I request that you stay with Teddy and his grandfather for the next few days before the train to Hogwarts on Tuesday morning. If you can, avoid college and your work commitments. It is not safe on the streets anymore for you both, if you must leave, take either Remus or Tonks with you."

Harry exchanges a look with Teddy. He knows his best friend is feeling the same; like he's being put on house arrest. There is so much still unanswered, so much they have yet to explain. Harry already feels exhausted, like all the new information is sitting on him like a physical weight. 

"Well," Harry begins to get up. "This has been great, thank you for all the very informative and not at all confusing information. Can't wait for Hogwarts, sounds like a blast. I'm going to go now because I need to write a resignation letter and think of a disease I can suddenly develop to mean I can no longer attend college," he's at the door when he turns around and flashes them the blandest smile he can muster. "It was a pleasure meeting you all, thank you for giving me a headache, have a good weekend."

He's out the door when he hears Teddy shout his name, followed by a thunderstorm of footsteps following him out of the pub. 

He doesn't look over his shoulder to see who followed him, instead lights a cigarette and puts it between his lips. He takes a greedy drag, sighing when he feels his head spin slightly with the deprived nicotine high. 

"Dude, that Dumbledore literally just talked about us walking around alone and you walked out," Teddy comes out chuckling, "Fucking brilliant. You should have seen Snape and that woman's faces. Absolutely priceless."

Harry flashes him a weak grin. 

"You alright, man?"

Harry nods. "Fine. Just got a lot to do."

"Do you think Justin will be mad about the pub?"

Harry shrugs a shoulder. "No idea. It's so last minute, I wouldn't be surprised if he bans me from there too."

"Don't be a stupid prat," Teddy snaps, snatching the box of cigarettes out of his hand and placing one between his own lips. "Justin loves you like a son. He won't be angry you're resigning, he'll be worried."

Harry sighs and leans his head against the pub wall. "I hope so. I can't bare the idea of upsetting him, or Derek."

"Oh, shut up!" Teddy punched his arm, tossing him back the box that Harry catches without even moving his body, just his arm. "You're so dramatic."

"Teddy, are you aware our lives just turned into the most dramatic fairy tale ever?"

"Yes, but Shaun is the dramatic one out of ours friends, not you, so don't go stealing his thunder."

Harry rolls his eyes before he slumps again. "What are we gonna tell them?"

Teddy shakes his head. "I have no idea, man. That we're going to stay with my parents?"

"That would work for you, but me?" Harry shakes his head. "No one is going to believe I'd give up college, my job and all of them to live with your folks."

"We'll figure it out," Teddy offers. 

Harry looks up to the sky. A moment later, he groans and presses the heals of his palms into his eyes, pressing down hard. 

"What has actually happened in the last 24 hours?" He asks rhetorically. "This is actually real, this is actually my fucking life." 

Teddy just pats him on the shoulder and leaves him to have his momental mental crisis. 

The door opens loudly and Harry looks to see Remus and Tonks step out. 

"Boys," Remus nods. "You both okay?"

"Yeah, dad," Teddy replies. 

"Absolutely peachy, Mr Lupin," Harry adds mockingly with a thumbs up. 

Teddy's father just smiles. 

"Shall we go and get you belongings, Harry?" He asks. 

Harry shrugs a shoulder. "Sure."

"We don't have to do that transport thing again, do we?" Teddy asks. 

Remus shakes his head. "No. How far is the home, Harry?"

"About half hour."

"That's fine. Shall we use the underground?"

"Unless you want to be walking for two hours," Harry replies as he pushes off the wall and begins walking towards the underground station. 

"It always astounds me how huge London is," Teddy's mother says behind him. 

Teddy catches up to walk alongside Harry's quick strides. 

"What are you going to tell Sylvia?"

"It's not Sylvia I'm worried about," Harry replies. She'll be happy to see the back of him, Harry knows this. "It's the kids I'm scared to tell."

Harry spent as little time as he could at the home, but he's been there he longest out of all the kids, which means the kids come to him for everything. All the new kids, they're introduced to Harry first because he knows the ropes, he knows the way the house works, the cheats and the passages. They all look up to Harry, which he's never understood because he smokes like a chimney, works in a bar and is about as reckless as the next orphan, but they do anyway. Harry cares about every single one of them, so much that he even went to the school of Ben, one of the ten year olds at the home, because he said he was being bullied. Harry had spoken to Andy, the only person Harry ever told the extent of his abuse to, and who completely understood Harry's desperation to stop this bully that resembled so much of his late cousin. Harry and Andy had gone to the school, Harry barely 14 and Andy 16, scared the shit out of the kid and then proceeded to get into a fist fight with the kids older brother. Harry had busted all of his knuckles but it was worth it. The kid never bothered Ben again, so Harry counted it as a win. He was instantly rewarded older-brother title by all the younger kids alongside Andy. 

Harry can't imagine how Stan is going to act. They're the oldest, in age and in time staying there. They're the ones who look after the younger kids, who feed them and make sure they stay out of Sylvia's radar. Harry's practically dumping the whole responsibility of the house in Stan's lap with about as much warning as a car crash. Harry knows how crushed he'd been when Andy had left, but at least he'd had warning, he knew the day was coming for months. And then he had Stan, he had another person to help him, to relate to. 

Stan is going to be alone. 

Harry doesn't say anything on the tube. He doesn't know what he can say, what he can possibly voice that is going to make this situation any better. He's been told so much information in the last 24 hours that his mind is overflowing, overwhelmed and exhausted. He feels physically tired as he sits in the uncomfortable train seat. Teddy at his side and Remus and Tonks a few rows down, he feels more alone than ever. 

When they surface to the London streets, Harry knows it's only a few minutes to the home. He feels his skin prickle, assuming he's more anxious that he thought. All the kids will be home putting away the groceries they bought early that morning, a Saturday tradition. Which means Harry is going to have to see them all. He's going to have to face Stan's wrath for not coming home last night and not calling. He's going to have to answer questions as to why he's packing, where he's going, why he's going. For a moment, Harry debates running. He could leg it, just run through London and beyond until his legs won't let him go anymore. He's disappeared once, he could do it again. 

He's still contemplating this idea when he turns the last corner, but then he smells it. 

"Is that. . . is that smoke?"

Harry looks and feels his heart drop to his feet. 

There's a crowd in front of the home, gathered around and yelling. There's women screaming, sirens blaring, men shouting orders and pushing the pedestrians back. 

Beyond them, the home is up in flames. 

"Oh my Merlin," Remus gasps. 

"Harry—" Teddy starts, but Harry isn't listening. He runs, bolting towards the building. He sprints with more speed than he ever has. He hears shouting behind him but he doesn't listen, he  _can't_ listen. The home, the kids, Stan, are all inside. 

Harry pushes through the crowd and comes out of the other side. Someone reaches for him, someone shouts his name, but he slips through their fingers like butter. He makes it to the door and even before he bursts through it, he can feel the heat. Flames flicker and lick through the wholes where the now broken windows once stood. The bricks are black and charred, and wooden door shut until Harry slams into it shoulder first.

He falls through, immediately smoke gathers in his lungs and he coughs, covering his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. He tries not to gasp as the heat surrounds him, as flames flicker and dance near his face. The floor, the walls, the ceiling, everything is burning. 

"Stan!" He screams. "Stan! Ben! Rory! Katie!"

He screams all of their names as he makes his way into the living room. The smoke is a black cloud gathered at eye level, making it hard to see. Tears fill his eyes, smoke consumes his lungs. He can't breathe. He can't think. 

He opens his mouth to scream again when he spots someone laying on the floor beneath a cascade of wooden planks and plaster. With a single glance up, Harry sees the ceiling to the second floor had fallen through. 

He drops to his knees, shoving the rubble off and trying to see their face. 

He doesn't know if he feels relief or fear to see Stan's bloody and ashes face squished against the floor. 

"Stan!" He shouts. His chest aches as another breath of smoke invades his lungs. He coughs, choking. "Stan! Wake up!"

Stan doesn't move, his eyes are closed and his body still. 

The heat is getting beyond unbearable. Harry can feel it licking his clothes. He's sweating, body overheating. He's so tired, his eyes heavy and body giving up. He shakes the black spots from his vision. He grabs Stan by shoulders and flips him onto his back. He pulls him into a sitting position, hooking one of his arms around his own shoulders and winding his own arm around Stan's waist to pull him to his feet. He can barely find the strength to get him to his feet. Stan feels like a dead weight, heavy and exhausting. Harry can barely get a breath in. He feels like someone has tied rope to his lungs and they won't expand. 

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment to relieve the stinging before he makes his way back to the front door. 

He continues to scream the kids names. He doesn't know where they are, and he wants to look into the kitchen but Stan's weight is dragging him down and he barely makes it to the front door. 

He stumbles out, the fresh air flooding his lungs immediately. The crowd is still there, and if anything it's grown. Police are shoving everyone back, fire engines parked and fire men are running towards the building with hoses. He spots Teddy and his parents, whom are both restraining him. 

He shouts when he sees Harry, and instantly two paramedics are running towards him. Harry barely makes it down the stairs without falling. His legs feel as weak as a new borns. As soon as the paramedics reach him they help him lay Stan down on the pavement. Harry coughs, and when he starts he can't stop. His chest feels like it's got weights on it. He's shivering with a chill that he can't shake. 

Teddy is suddenly beside him, crouching at his side, hand on his back and the other on his shoulder to stop him from face planting. 

"You fucking idiot," Teddy swears, and Harry can hear the emotion in his voice over the pounding in his own ears. "You're such a big fucking idiot! Don't you ever do that again!" 

"That was risky as hell, kid," the man working on Stan says. They're attaching something to his face while the woman attaches a brace around his neck. 

"Is he okay?" Harry asks. His voice is barley a croak. 

"Here, kid," the woman passes him a face mask and an oxygen tank. "You've got one pretty case of smoke inhalation."

"Where are they?" Harry asks without taking the oxygen, his throat wrecked. He coughs, his whole ribcage jarring in his chest. "Where are the other children?"

The man looks at him with unreadable eyes. 

"No one else made it out, kid."

Harry feels like someone has punched him in the chest. 

"W-what?" His voice barely makes it above a whisper. His insides have turned ice cold. 

"No one else made it out." 

 

_ — tbc. _


	7. when the party's over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't intend for this chapter to be so long but once i started writing i kind of starting waffling so good luck!
> 
> also wanted to say a HUGE thank you to all the feedback i've gotten. you guys have been so kind despite me going MIA for like three months <3

****7

Teddy Lupin has never been to a hospital. He's 16 years-old, and not once has he ever had to step foot in a hospital. His grandmother Tonks died before he was born, his fathers parents too. No other family members have died or got sick, and neither has he. He's never broken a bone, never been ill enough for doctors.

Teddy doesn't even know how hospitals work. He's so unfamiliar with waiting rooms and operating rooms and private rooms and wards. He'd stick by his fathers side as much as he could while they'd waited the day of the fire.

But that was yesterday, and it's been a long time waiting.

Teddy can still feel the remains of the adrenaline in his system from the whole ordeal. He can remember the feeling of his heart jumping into his throat when Harry started running, the pounding of blood in his ears when he chased him, but Harry had been too fast. He'd slipped between the arms of the police grabbing him like an ice cube, running into the house so fast no one had a chance to stop him.

The police had grabbed Teddy, trapped him for long enough for his parents to do the same, to grab him by his arms and shoulders and hold him back. He'd screamed and shouted, for them to either let him go or get Harry out. His friend had been such an idiot. He ran blind into a burning building, but Teddy can never replace the fear he felt in his gut at the idea of Harry never coming back out. The building had been groaning and breaking beneath the flames, and all Teddy could do was scream Harry's name. His mother had tried to calm him down, but he was in hysterics the moment Harry disappeared through the front door.

And when Harry had come back out, Teddy had elbowed his father hard enough in the ribs to get him to let go so he could get to Harry.

He's never seen his friend so shaken. Not even after they got into their first bar fight, not even when they almost got hit by a car when they were 14, not even after all the times he'd come over from the home at ass-crack in the morning, saying he couldn't sleep there that night. He looked more shaken than when he'd arrived Friday night after being attacked at the station.

Teddy walks out of the hospital cafe that sells sandwiches and coffee that even Teddy, who will eat pretty much anything, can barely stomach. He follows the maze of white walls and long corridors that he's become used to over the last evening and navigates his way back to the room.

Teddy doesn't know how he was expecting Harry to react to his home burning down and everyone in it, par for Stan, dying, but he certainly wasn't expecting Harry to do _nothing_. Harry was rushed to the hospital alongside Stan, barely managing to drag breath into his smoke clogged lungs. He was shaking so bad Teddy thought he was going to fall off the stretcher. Teddy was expecting some crying, some shouting, maybe even some panic, but Harry was a void of it all. The paramedic had told Teddy Harry was in shock, that he'd be okay after a good night sleep and some checks on his chest.

They'd barely managed to keep Harry is his own hospital room for five minutes before he was up and asking everyone wearing a hospital uniform what was happening to Stan.

The diagnosis was enough to drain the last life out of Harry's eyes.

Stan's spine had been broken by falling ceiling. He suffered with smoke inhalation almost beyond repair. The majority of his skin was covered in third degree burns, scarring his skin mutilated and ugly. There was more of a chance than not of brain damage from the knock he took to the head and the affects of his broken spine. He has yet to wake up, but Teddy has a sinking feeling that day isn't going to come. The doctors diagnosis was daunting, a punch to the gut for any hope. They practically confirmed that if by some miracle Stan wakes up, he's not going to be the kid he was before.

Teddy doesn't knock on the door when he gets to it, but he looks through the window before stepping inside.

His father looks up when the door opens and flashes him a kind, tired smile. It's been a long night, from fighting Harry into bed to police interviews to sitting at Stan's bedside. The police had arrived pretty much as soon as they'd finished checking Harry over. The doctors had protested that they should give him more time, that the interview wasn't going to help the shock, but Harry had said he'd do it there and then. Teddy assumes it's because Harry wanted to get it done and dusted with. He doesn't know what was said in the police interview, because as soon as it was over Harry made a bee-line for Stan's room and hasn't spoken since, but Teddy can assume Harry isn't going to be arrested for potential charge over the fire.

"Hey," Teddy says, voice hushed, as he steps inside. He looks to his sleeping best friend curled in the chair next to the bed. "He been asleep long?"

"Dropped off pretty much as soon as you left," Remus replies, taking the sandwich and coffee with a 'thank you'. "Sleep is the best thing for him right now."

Teddy nods and looks at Harry again. He always knew his best friend was small, but the way he's curled completely on himself in the blue leather chair has confirmed to Teddy that he is best friends with a cat. Harry has his knees pulled against his chest, his arms squashed in the middle. His head is slightly to the side, resting on the side of the chair, his hair flopping limp and thick on his forehead. He breathes like he has a band wrapped around his chest, short and raspy. His skin is ashen pale, clean from the ash and smoke but colourless with shock. He's stopped shaking, but Teddy is sure it will start again when he wakes.

He drapes a blanket over the sleeping form and sits down beside him again. When he looks at the bed, he instantly feels sick.

Stan is a sight for sore eyes, and Teddy wishes now he was able to meet him before he became a burnt broken person.

Him and Harry talk about everything, but one thing they never talked about was the home. Teddy knew Harry lived in an orphanage, of course he knew. He even knew where it was, he'd just never been there. Teddy had met Andy a few times when Harry had met up with him to buy cigarettes, but other than that, Teddy knew as much about the home as a stranger. Teddy never imagined the home was a nice place to live, judging by the way Harry was more than often opt to crash on their sofa than go back to the home, or he'd have to cut a day out short because he said he had to get back to the home to cook for the younger kids. Growing up, Teddy wasn't a fool. When he first met Harry, he knew Harry was treated badly by the other kids in the home. He knew Harry was the runt of the pack, the little kid picked on and bullied. He can see in the way Harry shields himself, how his eyes have this haunt and age to them that only belongs to someone who's had to grow thick skin and grow it fast. Teddy doesn't know what Harry's life was like before the home, but if it's anything to be judged in the way he will throw a fist to defend a friend but flinches when adults yell, he assumes that wasn't a pleasant place to live either.

But he's never asked Harry. He's never felt the need to put a rift in their friendship, to put Harry on the spot. He knows he's proven it enough to Harry for him to know that he can speak to Teddy about anything when he's ready, and he also knows that Harry deals with things alone. Harry has never come to Teddy with any problems, he's never told Teddy about his old family or his time in the home but as much as Harry has mastered the art of barricading his emotions, Teddy can read him like a book. Harry doesn't talk, he bottles things up until they explode.

Which is why he's so nervous to see Harry's reaction to what's happened.

"Has the doctor been back in to say anything?" Teddy asks after he's munched through half his sandwich.

His father shakes his head. "Not yet. They're due soon though."

"You don't have to whisper so much, y'know," Teddy replies. He nods his head to Harry, "He can't hear you when he's laying on his left ear."

"What?"

"Harry's deaf in his right ear. Didn't you know?"

"How in Merlin was I meant to know that?"

"He was lip-reading the night you first met him," Teddy explains. "The explosion knocked his good ear and he couldn't hear a thing. I thought. . . I don't I know, I assumed you'd noticed."

"Afraid not, I didn't have a clue," he says, looking at Harry with soft eyes. "How long has he been deaf?"

"As long as I've known him. His other ear is fine, but when he lays on his left side he can't hear a damn thing. It took a while to get used to, he used to sit in class with his hand on his left ear so he didn't have to listen to the teachers," Teddy chuckles.

His father smiles sadly, "He wasn't born like that. Has he said how it happened?"

"Nah," Teddy shakes his head. "I've never asked either. We don't. . . He doesn't like to talk about that stuff."

"So he can't hear a single thing right now?"

"Nope. Which is a small blessing, 'cause hopefully that will mean he'll sleep for a while."

Remus nods, finishing his coffee. "The doctor will be in to wake him soon. Remember, when they checked his lungs they said he's going to need to be regularly checked."

"Yeah," Teddy sighs, "I'll try to get him to eat something too."

"I'm going to go and phone your mother and grandfather," Remus says after a minute, standing up. "They've asked to be kept updated with what's happening."

"Okay, cool. Can you. . . Can you just ask if any of the other kids have been found? Just in case."

His father looks down at him and smiles, squeezing his shoulder. He glances at Harry, "Of course."

"Thank you."

 

Harry doesn't open his eyes when he wakes. With his left ear down and his eyes closed, he can pretend for a small moment, that nothing exists. That is until he breathes and the new strain in his chest drags him back to the brutal reality.

The fire.

The home.

The kids

Stan.

Harry doesn't want to open his eyes and face it all. He doesn't want to acknowledge that what happened is real, that all the kids are gone and the home is a burnt skeleton and Stan is merely a broken body in the bed. Harry isn't a fool, he knows Stan's diagnostic is basically a death certificate. He wants to ask someone about the other kids, even if it's only one, if _someone_ else made it out, but the idea of being told 'no' makes his stomach feel like a scooped out Jack'O'Lantern.

Harry doesn't want to face it all, but he knows he can't hide behind closed eyes forever.

When he opens then, he feels so drained he can barely flinch at the blinding white hospital lights. He squints, his eyes taking longer than normal to adjust. His glasses are still on, Teddy having probably decided not to take them off so he wouldn't have to scavenge around for them when he woke.

Blinking awake, he looks around the room and instantly finds Teddy next to him. The other teen is looking down at the paperback Harry had in his jacket pocket.

With a stinging realisation, Harry realises that's the last thing, apart from the clothes on his back and the odd thing he's left at Teddy's, that he owns. Everything else is burnt or ash by now, ruined by the fire. Harry can't imagine if it did this much damage to Stan then any of his belongings survived.

The police told him the fire was arson, that it was started with such ferocity that the old house didn't stand a chance. Witnesses have given statements that the house was in ferocious flames within minutes, that they heard screaming from inside but saw no one running out. 

Harry told them he was a friends of Stan. He didn't tell the police he was a member of the house, or that he was an orphan living there. He told the police his parents were on holiday so he was staying with his best friend and his parents, that he knew Stan from school and was on his way to visit the home.

It was easier that way. If the police didn't think he was a member of the house, they wouldn't question him more. This way too, he was now free. He isn't in the books as an orphan, because all of Harry Evans paperwork from college and schools says he has two parents that he lives with. That was how Sylvia did it, she was too old fashioned. She had all the files in paper, everyone's school records and doctor records had fake names for parents and numbers. Harry knows that means that all the children in the house are now going to be forgotten. The police don't even know _who_ was inside, how many or how little. They only know Stan, but at the moment, they have more of a chance getting a word out of the burnt corpses than they do him.

Teddy looks around at him, and if he's surprised to see him awake he doesn't show it. Instead, he smiles that familiar warm, homely Teddy smile that can make any rage in Harry's chest disintegrate.

"Hey," he sees Teddy say, and he wants to speak to Teddy, he doesn't want to shut him out but the idea of raising his head and listening to the machines keeping Stan alive make his stomach swim.

Teddy must get it, because he squeezes Harry's knee and holds up a sandwich.

Harry shakes his head. He has no appetite.

Teddy frowns and inclines his head, saying, "You have to eat."

Harry shakes his head again. His eyes feel tired, eyelids heavy. He's sure if he shuts them again he could go back to sleep, but he doesn't know how much time has passed and he wants to know if there's any news.

He lifts his head, and instantly he is swarmed by sounds. The beeping of the machines, the inhale and exhale of the breathing tube, the voices outside the room, the birds outside, his own grating rasp for breath.

"Is there any news?" He asks. He barely recognises his own voice. Everything feels so detached, like he's not in his own body anymore.

Teddy shakes his head. "They've been checking him hourly. No change. They said no ones been brought in either."

Harry nods. He was expecting that, and he's surprised by how much it doesn't hurt. Maybe he can't digest anymore hurt, maybe he's all filled up.

"If you're not going to eat, at least drink some coffee," Teddy says, picking up a cup off the table. He hands it to Harry, "It's fresh. My dad just went to get us another round. The tea here is diabolical, the coffees not much better but you need to keep your blood sugar up."

"Since when did you become a doctor?" Harry mutters as he takes the cardboard up.

Teddy smiles. "I've been asking a lot of questions. They said it's good for shock."

"I'm not in shock anymore," Harry replies. It's a lie, he's never felt more shaken and detached in his whole life. He hasn't felt this empty since the Dursley's kicked him out.

"Just drink your coffee, buddy."

"Where's your dad?"

"He's gone to get you some clothes from mine, and find out if anything has been salvaged from the house."

"There won't be."

"Asking won't hurt," Teddy shrugs. "How you feeling?"

"Fine," Harry replies, taking a sip of the coffee. Teddy's right: it's horrible. "And by the way, you're meant to drink juice when you're in shock, not caffeine."

"I know, but coffee fills you up and I put enough sugars in there to give you diabetes, so drink up."

Harry rolls his eyes fondly and continues drinking.

"What's the time?"

Teddy looks at his watch. "8:23. It's Sunday morning."

"Have you slept?"

"On and off," Teddy shrugs. "Me and dad took it in turns."

Harry eyes the bags and drawn look on his best friends face. "You should get some sleep."

"I'm sure I can handle missing one night. We were too worried to sleep properly anyway."

"You don't have to worry, I'm fine."

"You are anything but fine, buddy," Teddy smiles but it's so sad it makes Harry's gut twist. He's trying so hard to keep a brave face on for Harry. "That's okay though. No ones expecting you to be fine."

Harry sits up in the chair slightly, stretching his stiff limbs. The door opens and his head snaps towards it.

A nurse walks in, smiling at them both.

"Morning boys," she greets. "How are you feeling today, Harry?"

"Fine. How is he?"

The nurse tuts but doesn't look at him. "I'll test your 'fine' when I check your chest in a minute."

"How is he?" Harry repeats.

The nurse looks across at him with hooded eyes, and Harry can already feel the news daunting on him. The nurse looks like she's ready to give him a death sentence.

"There's no change," she says softly. "But that could mean anything."

"Anything bad or anything good?"

"Just anything. He's. . . It's a miracle he even made it to the hospital. Just keep up faith."

Harry wants to snort. Keep faith? He has a broken back, there's nothing to be faithful to.

"The police are still trying to find him some relatives, but there were no records saved from the home itself," the nurse explains. "Is there anything you think you could tell them to help?"

"I only know his name and what college he goes to," Harry replies. He's already told the police as much as he can about Stan, but really, he knows barley anything at all. It's like that for all the kids in the home, apart from the little ones who like to talk and ask questions. As for Stan and Harry, anything before the home was a mystery.

"I thought so," the nurse smiles sadly and looks down at Stan. "I'll tell them not to disturb you then."

She checks his chest and gets him some ice chips to suck on for his throat before she leaves them be.

"I can't tell if that was good news or bad news," Teddy says.

"There is no good news," Harry tosses the cup of ice chips down. "There's only news."

The door opens again and Remus steps inside. He at least seems surprised to see Harry awake.

"Harry, good morning," he says. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

Remus nods like he was expecting that. He looks to Teddy, "Your mother is outside. She's going to take you home to shower and get some sleep."

"I'm not leaving Harry."

"It's only for a few hours, bud."

Teddy looks helplessly at Harry, mentally asking him to beg for him to stay.

Harry smiles - or at least, tries to smile. "Go, buddy. You're starting to smell, anyway."

Teddy chuckles and punches him lightly in the arm. "I'll be back in a few hours, yeah?"

Harry nods and hugs Teddy back when he bends down to wrap his arms around his shoulders. The hug feels good, but it threatens to bring tears to Harry's eyes. He doesn't want Teddy to leave him, to leave him with Stan's silent body at the prying nurses.

He watches Teddy's retreating back with a sinking heart as he hugs his dad and leaves. When the door closes behind him with a click so soft, Harry's eyes are trained on Remus as he takes a seat on the other side of Stan.

"Harry, how are you really feeling?" Remus asks.

Harry doesn't look the older man. He stares across the bed as if it's not even there, eyes trained on Stan's burnt and mutilated face.

"It was them, wasn't it?" He asks, and even he's surprised at the lowness of his voice. His eyes flick up off the bed and meet directly with the older mans. "It was them who started the fire, wasn't it?"

Harry doesn't need to specify who 'them' are, he knows Remus already knows.

Lupin shifts almost uncomfortably. He seems squeamish under Harry's haze. "Nothing has been declared yet, but—"

"The police said it was arson," Harry interrupts. He can feel the anger in him bubbling like a volcano, threatening to spill over. He doesn't know where this anger is coming from, but it's filling the black hole that had made itself home in his chest.

"It is looking for towards that, yes," Lupin replies slowly, almost cautiously like he's speaking to an angry child. "But don't worry too much, Harry. The Ministry—"

"No offence to your Ministry, but they don't seem too smart so far. They believed I was dead for five years and allowed a group of people to burn down an orphanage."

The older man sighs, "Harry, you have to understand—"

"They've been in London for _weeks_ ," Harry seethes. "Weeks, and your ministry have done _nothing_. And now look what's happened. Look at what has been _done_!"

"I know. I know, Harry. But they're Death Eaters, they don't follow the Ministry—"

"No, they follow _Him_ ," Harry snarls the word with so much ferocity he can barely recognise himself, yet at the same time the roll of his tongue feels right. The rage in his stomach feels home, so much better than the grief. "How were they not seen?"

"It's hard to say. They could have Apparated fast enough to not be seen, or they could have erased themselves from the witnesses memories."

Harry can't keep the surprise off his face. "They can do that?"

"It is possible, yes, though unlikely. It's more likely that they just did it fast enough."

"It was broad daylight. They're that psychotic that they were willing to do it in daylight."

Psychotic, or just confident? Maybe they don't care at all about the exposure of magic that they'll do anything they like.

Even if it is burn down a home of children.

"They burnt down the home because of me," Harry mutters. "They were looking for me."

Remus shakes his head. "No, Harry. You can't think like that, you can't hoard all of that guilt. It's not your fault—"

"It is," Harry snaps. "They've never done something this personal before. All the other incidents, they were random. They were coffee shops or banks or bridges. They were _public_ , not a home in the backstreets of London."

"It could just be a coincidence," Remus offers, but it sounds like not even he is convinced. He says it with a hesitation that's too weak to sound true.

Harry pinches the bridge of his nose. He can feel a headache forming behind his eyes like a balloon swelling against his skull.

"Try not to worry about it too much, Harry," Lupin says, and Harry can almost _laugh_ at how stupid that suggestion is. Don't worry? Is he _fucking_ kidding? "You just worry about healing."

Harry looks at him with a gaze so piercing Remus is reminded horribly of how Harry doesn't look like his parents in that moment, his parents never looked so malacious.

"I don't have anything to heal."

"I didn't mean physically," Remus says softly. "You've been through a lot in the last three days."

Harry doesn't say anything to that. Instead, he slumps in the chair and tries to calm the live beast in his stomach fighting to get Stan and the children justice.

 

Teddy comes back dinner at time. He looks better, more refreshed and rested. He takes one look at Harry, still in the chair he was when he left and smiles sadly.

Teddy doesn't ask how he is, and Harry appriciates it more than ever. He doesn't want to answer that question anymore.

Teddy also doesn't ask if there's been any news, and Harry is more grateful for that, but by the look on his face he's already asked a nurse. They'd come in a few hours before, frowning at the statistics on the charts they were looking at. When Harry pressed them what was wrong, they tried to fight him they he wasn't family, but Harry could barely contain his temper enough to promise them no family was going to turn up, and eventually they caved and told him.

The news made his heart stutter. Stan wasn't doing better, if anything he was doing worse. His back was almost promising paralysis, complications with his organs were popping up like freckles in the sun. The damage done to his brain by the bust to his head wasn't looking positive the more the swelling was going down.

Harry could barely swallow the information without feeling like he was going to vomit the coffee he drank earlier.

It isn't a surprise when the heart monitor flatlines Monday morning. It's even less of a surprise when they fail to revive him.

Harry watches through the hospital room window, watching as the nurses and doctors work relentlessly. The nurse whom had treated Harry and Stan looks at him through the window when they stop, her expression physically pained. She must know straight away that they don't need to declare Stan dead to Harry, he already knows.

Teddy is beside him, Remus behind them when it happens. Teddy says nothing but he's sorry, and Harry would appriciate it if he could feel anything. He feels utterly numb.

He looks away from the room, away from the doctors and the nurses, the switched off machines and the body in the bed, and looks straight at Lupin.

"I'm ready to go now," is all he says.

Harry doesn't cry. He doesn't rage or sob or shake. He doesn't do anything but spare one last glance into the room before he makes his way downstairs. Teddy and Lupin follow him out almost helplessly, like they don't know what to do. Harry supposes they're waiting for him to do something, but he barely has the energy to carry himself downstairs.

He doesn't know if he's grateful or not to see all of their friends by the reception when they get there.

It's Stevie who sees him first. She lets out a slight gasp, and then she's running. She crashes into him, arms enveloping around him instantly. Harry hugs her back, but he knows his body is stiff, arms like wires around her.

"Teddy told us," she says softly into his ear. "I'm so sorry, Harry. It's all over the news. We had. . . we didn't know it was you until last night when Teddy told us and—"

"It's okay, Stevie," Harry cuts her off weakly. He doesn't want to talk about this now.

"It's not," she shakes her head against him. "You could have died, and we didn't even _know_ and—"

Harry pulls back and looks at her: her eyes are bloodshot, showing him she's been crying. Stevie never cries.

He holds her face, "I'm okay."

He looks past her to see the others have come closer, watching them.

"Hey, man," Shaun says. "Teddy told us you're going away. We wanted to come and say goodbye."

Harry forces the most believing smile onto his face.

"Thanks," he says, but it sounds as hollow as it feels. He moves to hug Shaun, who pats him on the back in the way that only Shaun can do.

Derek looks at him with sad eyes. "You alright, man?"

"I'm fine," Harry nods.

"Teddy told us about the smoke inhalation. You gonna keep smoking them cigarettes like a chimney now?"

"Of course he is," Kyle chimes in, stepping around Shaun and coming next to him. "Wouldn't be our Harry if he didn't."

Harry manages to find it in himself to smile at that.

"How long are you guys going to be gone?" Stevie asks. She's tucked into Derek's side now, who's arm is around her like a safety blanket.

"We're not sure," Teddy answers, and Harry is happy to let him take the reply this time. "We'll be back in no time, though. Y'can't get rid of us that easy."

"We're gonna miss you guys," Shaun says. "What are you gonna do about college and work?"

"My dads sorted college out for us."

Harry looks to Derek, about to open his mouth to ask if Derek can tell his dad, when Derek beats him to it.

"I'll explain everything to my dad. He won't be mad, he loves you like his own. My mums probably going to want to invite you round for dinner to make sure you're okay, but I'll cover you," Derek smiles. "I'll go to the library to. You don't have to worry."

"Thank you, Derek," Harry whispers, because his voice feels weak. "Really. Thank you."

Derek winks at him. "Anything for my dads favourite."

Harry manages a chuckle at that. They've always joked about Harry being Justin's favourite, and he's always loved how Derek agrees as much as everyone else.

Teddy starts to walk out with them, but Harry sticks next to Kyle.

He looks up at him, and for once, Harry is happy about their height difference. He feels small, but it's the kind of small that makes him want to curl into Kyle's chest and hide away.

Kyle looks down at him, a soft smile on his lips.

"I—"

"Please don't say anything."

Kyle nods. "That would probably be easier."

Outside, Harry hugs from for longer than he's ever hugged anyone else. He melts into Kyle's chest like he couldn't against Stevie. He falls into Kyle, slotting against him like a puzzle piece.

Harry wonders if he keeps his eyes closed for long enough then the whole thing will dissolve into a nightmare and he'll wake up, fresh and alive, in Kyle's bed like he's done so many times.

"I love you," Kyle says into his hair.

It rips a laugh out of Harry he didn't know he could do feeling the way he does. For a moment, it's like a ray of sun poking through the black clouds of the day.

He pulls away and shoves Kyle lightly, chuckling. It's a joke they've had going since they met, saying that they loved each other. Maybe they do, but not in the way someone could love a partner. That's what was so special about them.

"I love you too," Harry says.

Kyle chuckles and wraps an arm around his shoulder, leading him to the car Remus had ordered them. Harry supposes he can't Apparate with both him and Teddy, or maybe he just feels the need to use their form of transport. Harry doesn't know, but he's grateful. He doesn't feel like being pushed through a tube today.

Lupin is already in, and Teddy is saying good bye to the others when Harry climbs inside.

"Promise you'll call us," Stevie says when Teddy gets in after him. "We're going to miss our favourites."

Teddy laughs. "We'll call. We promise."

"Stay safe, yeah?" Derek adds.

"We will," Teddy nods. "Try not to be too miserable without us."

"We'll try," Kyle winks.

The drive back to Teddy's is silent. Harry leans his head against the window and looks at the passing streets. _Will_ they ever come back? He can't help but wonder. Will they ever be allowed back to London? Will it ever be safe enough?

 _Of course it will be_ , Harry answers himself. _Just as soon as he defeats Voldemort._

The house feels cold when they get to it, despite the sun shining down on it. Harry can't shake the chill that's followed him from the hospital, like a shadow trailing after him and ghosting over his skin. He feels cold and empty, and when Teddy and Lupin talk to him he can't find it in himself to reply. He drifts through the house like a spirit, soundless and soulless, up the stairs and into Teddy's bedroom.

It's not long before Teddy comes up too.

Harry's closed the blinds so the room is in darkness, but he can be spotted instantly on the bed, curled into a ball. He'd taken off his shoes, his socked feet tucked under his legs that are folded against his chest.

Teddy closes the door behind him, but Harry can't hear. He's laid on his left side purposely, a clear indication that he doesn't want to talk. Teddy doesn't do anything but kick his shoes off and climb onto the bed. He grabs a blanket from the end, laying down beside Harry and draping it over them both. Harry doesn't say anything, he doesn't have to. Teddy knows anyways.

Teddy always knows.

 

Harry gets up at two. He can't sleep, and the only thing that has kept him in bed has been the exhaustion weighing him down. He feels as though this bones have turned to lead within hours.

Teddy is sleeping, still curled beside Harry soundlessly. He must have told his father not to bother them, because Remus hasn't come up all day since they got back to the house. Harry appreciates it, because he can barely stomach a conversation let alone a meal.

Slipping out of the room, Harry moves through the house with the silence he'd learned living in the home. As he tip toes, his stomach twists at how many times he's had to do that at the home, to avoid waking Sylvia or the kids.

He'll never have to do that again.

He shakes the memories as he makes his way downstairs. He wants a cigarette, but not even he is self-destructive enough to try with his lungs still feeling like they've been cooked inside his chest. He can wait until tomorrow to continue poisoning his body.

He must be more out of it than he assumed, because he doesn't notice he kitchen light is on until he steps into the room.

He feels like he should be surprised to see Ed standing by the kettle that's boiling softly, but he can't find the energy to do so.

Ed looks up when he comes in, and he flashes Harry a smile that for the first time in two days, is not sad or sympathetic. It's just Ed's smile, genuine and bright and _home_.

"Hey, kiddo," he murmurs. "Shouldn't you be sleeping? You've got a train pretty early tomorrow."

Harry shrugs one shoulder and doesn't say anything, he doesn't trust his voice not to crack under the weight.

Ed doesn't add anything, but he does grab an extra mug from the cupboard as Harry sits down, and a moment later he's sliding a full cup of tea towards him.

"Not coffee?" Harry asks without looking up.

"It's too late for coffee," Ed replies. "Teas good. It will calm you."

"Who says I'm not calm?"

"Your hands are shaking and you're practically radiating restlessness," Ed replies swiftly, and Harry's head snaps up with a heartless glare. Ed shrugs one shoulder, nonchalant, "Are you going to tell me I'm wrong?"

Harry sighs and looks down again.

"Remus told me what happened. I'm sorry I didn't come by the hospital to see you."

Harry shakes his head. "It's fine. I don't think I could have done with another person there anyway."

"I assumed you'd say that. I was going to, but as soon as Remus assured me you were okay I figured you'd want space," there's a long, pregnant pause. "I'm sorry, Harry. I know you don't want to hear it, but I am. Those children, your friend, they did not deserve that."

"No," Harry mutters. "They didn't."

"Remus said you haven't cried about it yet."

"Am I meant to cry?"

"No, I think they were just expecting a bit more of a reaction than they got. After everything you've been through this weekend, yesterday should have been the cherry on top of the cake."

"What did they want? Crying? Screaming?"

Ed smiles. "You're angry."

Harry looks up sharply. Ed is learning against the counter behind him, mug in one hand and watching him.

"Excuse me?"

"You're angry about what happened."

Harry scoffs. "Of course I'm fucking angry!"

"Care to tell me why?"

"Because—" Harry chokes. He swallows around the lump his throat. Now he's got to say it, he can feel the talons around his neck in a vice grip. "Because _they_ did it because of _me_."

"They?"

"You know who."

Ed watches him for a long moment, and then he nods. "I do, and I don't want to be another person to tell you not to feel guilty about it—"

"Then don't."

" _But_ , I want to be the one to tell you to make sure your anger is directed at the right people."

Harry stops short at that. "What?"

"I know you, Harry. You're going to bottle this up until it explodes out of you, and you may not want it to, but explosions don't just hurt the person setting it off. You don't want to hurt the wrong people."

 _The wrong people_.

Harry replays it in his head over and over like rolling a marble on his tongue.

"I'm not going to tell you to not project your anger at the people making you feel like this, Harry," Ed continues. Voldemort and his Death Eaters go unsaid but Harry knows that's who Ed is talking about. "But they've hurt many people, and many people have failed to hurt them back because they haven't been able to control their anger in a way they can use it. You're a strong kid, and I want you to know that at least someone in this world isn't going to tell you to dismiss the way you're feeling. I just want you to use it _right_."

"And what way do you think is 'right'?"

Ed tilts his head to the side. "A way that I don't think you need me to say aloud, Harry. A way that a lot of other people are going to frown on, to be afraid of you for. Use that anger, use that power inside of you, but use it _right_ , use it when it's appropriate."

Harry digests the words. He knows exactly what Ed is talking about, it's similar to the speech he gave Harry the time he got suspended for decking a boy two years above him for insulting his parents. The insult had been completely blind, for no one in the school knew Harry's parents were dead, but it still stung and Harry had let his blind rage carry his fist directly into the boys nose. Ed has sat Harry down that day, given him a similar speech about how a boy with anger is like a boy with a gun, he just had to make sure he's pointing it at the right person with the right reason.

It's the same thing now, except Harry has a feeling Ed is talking about something a lot darker than breaking a 16 year-old bullies nose.

Harry finishes his mug of tea and claps it down on the counter.

"Want another one?" Ed asks.

"Shouldn't you be in bed? You have work in the morning."

Ed shrugs one shoulder. "What's a few lost hours. I'm not going to get to see you for God-knows how long. Have another cuppa, let's talk about all those questions filling your pretty head."

Harry snorts weakly and passes his mug over the counter.

When he has it back, he cups his hands and fingers around him to keep the chill stiffening them at bay. He's still so cold.

"Do you have any questions?"

"Many."

"But?"

Harry sighs softly, closing his eyes. "I don't think I can deal with the answers right now."

"That's understandable. Why don't you take your tea to bed? You're probably more tired than you think."

Harry leans his head in one hand. "Thought you wanted to talk?"

Ed smiles, "You look beat, kiddo. If you think you can't process questions now you're going to need some sleep to deal with the morning."

Harry runs a hand over his face and groans.

Ed chuckles, and suddenly there is a hand on his shoulder, warm and gentle but firm. It's grounding.

"Whatever happens when you're there, you can always contact me. I will always, and I mean _always_ , be here if you want to talk or have questions."

Harry looks up and smiles, and this time it feels genuine, because only Ed can make him feel like he's wrapped in a physical blanket with just words.

"Thank you, Ed."

The older man winks at him.

"Anytime, Harry."

 

"Now, traditionally, the train to Hogwarts goes on September first and then again at the end of the year, but Dumbledore has scheduled another for us."

"What platform? I can't see it on the board."

Remus laughs. "Son, it's not going to be on the board."

Teddy flushes slightly and Harry stubs out his cigarette against the wall before walking over to meet them.

"Where are we getting the train from then?" Harry asks.

"Platform nine and three quarters."

Harry blinks. "Did you. . .?"

"Dad, that's not a funny joke."

"Boys, I'm serious," Lupin says, but he's still smiling like a mad man. "Come on, I'll show you."

Harry exchanges a look with Teddy, silently telling him his father is an absolute nutter.

They follow Remus through the train station. It's almost 11, so the station is decently filled with people. Harry didn't realise his own paranoia until he found himself analysing every crowd, every face and silhouette. He sees a streak of black and the tension between his shoulders tightens like a cork. He feels jumpy, almost sketchy. His eyes flicker to every movement, he flinches at every sudden sound. He feels like a terrified cat, hyperaware of his surroundings.

He follows behind Teddy and Remus until they get to platform nine. Teddy is still talking to his father about what he had in his tea this morning to even think that there is a nine and three quarters platform, when the older man comes to a sudden stop.

"Here."

"Here?" Teddy echoes.

"I don't mean to be obvious, but this is still platform nine," Harry adds.

Teddy's father looks like he's a moment away from rolling his eyes.

"Boys, trust me," he says. "This is how we get to it."

Harry looks around.

"I still only see platform nine."

"You're going to have to really trust me for this," Remus adds, looking at both boys seriously.

"Okay," Teddy says slowly, and even he doesn't sound sure of what his father is telling them. "What do we have to do?"

Remus looks at them and takes a deep breath.

"You have to run into that wall."

Harry doesn't expect the laugh to come out of him to be so chilling.

He looks at the older man. "Are you fucking joking?"

Remus blinks. "Um. No, I am not."

"Dad, I'm not kidding, but this isn't funny anymore."

"I'm not trying to be funny," Remus stresses. He sighs, looking more than a little exasperated. "Look, why don't I show you. _But_ , you have to promise you will follow me through."

Teddy looks at Harry, silently asking them if he's going to agree. Harry just nods.

"Okay," Teddy looks back to his father. "We promise."

Remus looks between them both.

"Okay. Watch carefully. It's not hard, but it can go _very_ wrong."

"That's reassuring," Harry mutters under his breath, but the man has already turned towards the wall. He begins running, and both Teddy and Harry open their mouths to shout when suddenly, he's gone.

Harry blinks.

"Did he. . .?"

"Dad!" Teddy shouts.

"Shut up!" Harry elbows him, eyes still on the wall, still trying to process that he just watched Teddy's father run into a brick wall and disappear like he was walking through a curtain.

Teddy is muttering wildly as he circles the brick post where his father just disappeared into, as if he's playing some trick on them and is hiding.

"He's gone, Teddy," Harry sighs.

"Gone _where_?!" Teddy shouts.

"Nine and three quarters or whatever the fuck he's been going on about!" Harry runs a hand through his hair. He looks at his best friend, who's staring at the wall too.

"Well, we. . . we have to follow him."

Harry laughs lowly. "Are you fucking mad? I am not running into a brick wall."

"It's obviously not a normal brick wall!" Teddy replies. "Do you think it's magic?"

Harry rolls his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms tightly into his sockets. "What has my life come to," he murmurs to himself.

"We promised we'd go."

Harry looks up, Teddy looks as bewildered as Harry feels, just with a bit more energy.

"Fine."

"Together?"

Harry nods. "Together."

Harry doesn't know what he was expecting to happen after he runs at the wall, but he certainly wasn't expecting to walk through what felt like a doorway and stumble out onto a whole new platform. The station is different, like they're not even in Kings Cross anymore, and there is a steam train standing on the tracks.

"Impressive, huh?"

Harry looks and see's Remus standing beside them, looking more than pleased with himself.

"Absolutely smashing," Harry murmurs.

He follows Remus and Teddy onto the first carriage. He’s not surprised to see it empty, but it still feels weird to know there is a whole train for just three people. They don't walk long to find a cart to sit in. Harry's been on a lot of trains, but never one like this. Apart from tubes and the odd trip with school, he's never really got a train out of London.

He curls against the window when they go in, not giving a damn about manors as he pulls his feet onto the cushioned chair and folds his legs against his chest. He wants to feel small, he wants to be able to disappear on this ride.

Teddy sits opposite him, but as soon as the train starts moving, he's laying down and already dozed off despite only being up a few hours.

Harry can't even fathom sleep. He tries to concentrate on his book; a more than beaten copy of _The Picture of Dorian Grey_ , one of the many books Harry has left at Teddy's house that they found that morning, along with a small collection of jumpers, boxers and jeans that over the years of friendship have been left or forgotten, but Harry can't process the words on the paper. His mind is both tired and wired. He can't concentrate on a single thing. He feels frazzled, completely drained, but at the same time like he wants to pace the entire length of the train.

It's barely an hour before Harry tosses the book onto the cushion next to him and slumps further against the window, arms snaking around himself. He watches the passing trees, the scenery that flies past the window in a green blur. He manages to find it in himself to calm down enough to appreciate the fields and forests he doesn't get to see in London, tuning out Teddy's soft snores.

Lupin said the train takes seven hours, and on the third he comes in. He opens his mouth, takes one look at Teddy and smiles fondly. Harry ignores the pinch in his chest of envy at the sight of him looking at his son with the adoration Harry has never got to experience. He won't take this away from Teddy, he deserves his parents.

"How long as he been asleep?"

"Pretty much as soon as we set off," Harry replies softly. "He always sleeps on trains."

Lupin looks back at him and that stupid soft smile is back again.

"How're you feeling?"

Harry shrugs one shoulder. "Fine."

Lupin smiles, "You don't understand how much you sound like your father when you do that."

Harry tries not to show the pain in his face at the abrupt mention of his father. "Do what?"

"Say you're fine when you're anything but," Lupin smiles gently. "He always used to do that. Anything small, he'd whine until our ears bled. But when he was really hurting, he schooled it like it was a weakness."

Harry swallows around the thick lump in his throat.

"What. . . What else did he do?"

Lupin blinks. He comes into the carriage, sitting cautiously on the other side of the bench Harry is on.

"You really don't know a thing about them, do you?"

Harry shakes his head because he doesn't trust his voice.

Lupin looks more sad than someone who's just been told their dog has died. He looks like Harry has personally crushed him.

"Harry. . . They were incredible. Really. Your father was a bit overconfident in school, but he loved your mother more than anything, just as he loved you."

"Did they go to Hogwarts too?"

"Yes, we all did. Me, your father, your mother, and our two friends. Your parents were so smart. Your mother was the highest in her classes, and if it wasn't for her tutoring your father he probably wouldn't have made it through Hogwarts. He was smart as a whip, but he was a mischief maker. He was often more distracted with planning and pulling off pranks than he was doing his homework."

Harry feels the strings in his chest get plucked with every word Remus says. He sounds so nostalgic, so sad yet so happy.

"They. . . They sound lovely."

Lupin smiles at him.

"They were the best people I knew."

Harry can't look at the man anymore. It hurts like a physical punch in his stomach. He wants to know about his parents, wants to know enough about them to drown out the repeated memories of believing for years that they were nothing but a pair of drunken wastes of space, but it _hurts_.

"Is there anywhere I can go for a smoke?"

"End of the train. There's a small space to stand," Lupin looks unsure. "Do you want to eat first? Ed packed us some lunch."

"I'm okay," Harry shakes his head, standing up. "I'm not very hungry. But wake Teddy up, he'll be mad if he missed food because he was sleeping."

"Okay," Lupin sounds like he wants to argue, but instead just flashes an unconvincing smile. "If you’re sure."

Harry walks to the end of the train on shaky legs. He can't get what Lupin said out of his head. It dawned on him while the older man was talking how little Harry knows about his own parents, and how hard it is to imagine them as anything other than the disgraced picture the Dursley's imbedded in his head. He's hated his parents for years, hated who they were and what they did and how they left him. He's spent years using them as a mental punching bag for what he's been put through, his mind manipulating him into thinking if they hadn't got themselves killed them he wouldn't have been beaten like the unwanted runt he is.

But none of that is true. They weren't drunks, they weren't disgraces. They were wizards, they were brave and courageous and kind and heroes. They were everything Harry wanted but eventually learned to not believe. As a child, he defied the Dursley's nasty stories. He'd lay in the cupboard, mind filled with dreams of them being the best people he could imagine. But the Dursley's beat the dreams out of him like they beat his hope. They tormented him for being the orphaned son of a pair of disgraced outcasts, and eventually he began to believe that's what they were.

Harry's struggling to imagine them as anything else. He doesn't even know what they looked like, and now he doesn't even know _what_ they were like.

It was easy not to miss a pair of drunks, but now he's learning what they were really like, he now knows what it's like to miss something he's never had.

Teddy sleeps the rest of the train ride, but Harry can't get his mind to slow enough for him to drop off despite the exhausting ache weighing his body down.

Remus doesn't leave the carriage after he first came in. He sits by the door on the bench with Teddy's feet in his lap, reading a paper that Harry doesn't recognise but also doesn't have the energy to ask about. He's not sure if he can digest anymore new things today.

By the time the train slows to a stop, it's dusk out. Lupin leads them off the train and out of the station where a horse and carriage cart is waiting for them. Harry doesn’t think twice about it until he looks at the horses and sees they are some kind of skeletal, winged, reptilian animal. Harry stumbles in his step and stops, staring at them.

"Are you alright, Harry?"

He looks at Lupin. "What the fuck are those?"

"They are Thestrals," Lupin replies. "They’re a type of creature that can only be seen by those who have witnessed death and accepted it."

Teddy looks between the two of them. "Why can’t I see them?"

"You haven’t witnessed anyone pass away, son," Lupin replies, squeezing his shoulder. "Don’t worry. It’s certainly nothing to feel left out about."

Lupin continues to approach the carriage and Harry walks too, though slower and wearier.

"You alright, mate?" Teddy asks softly.

Harry nods.

"What do they look like?"

"Weird."

Harry has to tighten his jacket around his torso and chest. The air is biting and cold, and Harry supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. They’re somewhere in the North, surrounded by mountains in the brink of winter.

The trip up to the carriage is a blur for Harry and suddenly, they’re climbing off and following a path of large, cobbled slabs.

Harry feels his eyes widen helplessly at the sight of the castle before him. He wants to ask how in hell this is a school, but he knows that would be stupid. It's a wizarding school, should he really expect anything less than this?

Teddy is gawking up at the castle just as Harry is, and if Harry didn't feel so mentally tired, he might feel the nervousness his best friend is feeling at being here. Harry, however, just wants to shut his eyes and forget everything.

They dismount and follow Lupin towards the castle. Harry looks around but doesn't take anything in. He wants to drink it in, to soak up the castle like a sponge, but he can't barely focus on getting his feet to move in time. He has one thought taunting his tired mind: his parents were here once.

"Dinner has almost finished so I'm going to get you boys some food in your room," Lupin announces as they walk through ridiculously large doors into the castle. He looks over his shoulder at them, "Is that okay?"

"That's fine, dad," Teddy answers when Harry doesn't say anything. "This place is. . ."

Lupin smiles at him. "I know."

"Do we get our own room?"

"Dumbledore has suited you both in a spare prefect dorm room. You'll have your own bathroom and such."

The sight of the castle could make anyone speechless. With it's high ceilings and large chandeliers, aged stone walls and coloured glass windows, it looks like something out of a child's fairy tale.

Teddy's father leads them through the castle. The corridors are deserted, empty and eerie with its candle lights. They walk past a set of huge, ceiling high doors that are closed but behind them Harry can hear a pool of noise and ruckus.

"That's the Great Hall," Lupin explains unasked. "That is where all the students eat."

"Are they in there now?"

"Yes. That is why we're going to get you boys to your room now before they all come out. I doubt either of you are in the mood for introductions to that many students."

Harry doesn't say it, but Lupin is absolutely correct on that front. The last thing Harry wants to do is speak to anyone, let alone a crowd of peering teenagers.

They pass pictures that move and staircases that spin. Harry feels almost in a trance as he walks behind Teddy and Remus. Almost as if he can't convince his mind this is real.

They walk for what feels like hours before Lupin comes to stand outside a dark wooden door.

"The word to unlock it, is 'Marauders'."

"Marauders?" Teddy echoes.

Lupin just smiles. "I'll explain later. It's a password only you two will know. Do not tell anyone, because once they know it they can get into your room."

"Do the teachers know it?"

"Only myself, Professor Dumbledore, and the two teachers you met in London, Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape," Lupin motions to the door. "Go on then. Give it a try."

Teddy looks slightly uncomfortable and disbelieving as he steps up and says, "Marauders."

The door makes a sound and swings open wide. Harry cocks an eyebrow in surprise while Teddy gasps with a small laugh.

"Whatever happened to good old lock and keys?" Harry asks as they step inside.

"They knew your pick-locking hands were coming, that's what," Teddy replies.

Straight through the door, they walk into a cosy, low ceiling circular room with a fireplace and two large plush sofas, overflowing with cushions and thick throws draped over the backs. The fireplace is large and stone and has a roaring fire already in place. The walls are painted a deep, blood red burgundy with wooden slats to break up the consuming colour. The floor is stone and tile underneath the red and gold rugs. There's a table and chairs on the other side of the room, bookcases with books along the walls. There's a tall window but the darkness of night outside disguises what can be viewed.

"Your bedrooms are through that door," Lupin points to the closed door directly opposite the first door on the other side of the room. "The bathroom is off from there too. Your stuff has already been placed on your beds. I'll have someone bring you some food up shortly."

"Thanks, dad."

"No problem, boys."

Lupin steps out quickly, shutting the door behind him.

Harry walks further into the warm space, across to open the door to the bedroom.

It's a simple room with two four-post beds with red curtains either side. There's an another window but the drapes are already pulled shut.

One of the beds has Teddy's suitcase, and the other Harry's rucksack.

Teddy has already dove face first into one of the sofas, face down and his body almost swallowed whole by the cushions.

Harry sinks down into other couch. His body slumps into the cushions like a stone falling into a bowl of honey. Exhaustion consumes his so fast and hard he feels his eyes droop almost immediately as his body sags bonelessly. He's almost stubborn to admit that the sofa is as comfortable as it looks.

He realises a small part of him wanted the castle to be awful and disappointing. He's not sure why, maybe it's the unfairness in him that knows he should have been here when he was 11, that he should have found peace and happiness and safety in these castle walls years ago but instead, he was dumped like trash in a London orphanage. 

"Man, I am _so_ tired," Teddy mumbles when he moves his head enough that his face isn't completely consumed by pillow.

Harry rests his head in his palm and blinks lethargically. "How can you still be tired? All you've done for the last day is sleep."

"Travelling is tiring, man."

"The train had barely moved before you were snoring and drooling."

"I do not _drool_."

Teddy opens his mouths to protest some more but is cut off when there's a pop by Harry's head and suddenly, Teddy is yelping so hard he topples off the sofa.

Harry snaps up, back like a board as he flies to the other end of the sofa. His hand is suddenly clenched around something and he looks down to find an iron fire poker. He points it at the thing at the end of the sofa that cries with fright when the two boys move and almost drops the silver tray of plates and food.

"What the fuck!" Teddy cries as he scurries backwards on the floor.

Harry focuses on calming his racing heart, keeping the tool pointed at the creature and doesn't dare to take his eyes off it. But when the thing starts whimpering and gasping, he lowers the poker.

"Sorry! Willie is sorry! Willie didn't mean to frighten Professor Dumbledore's guests!" The thing is wailing. It's large, wrinkly bat ears flop of its face as it shakes.

Harry stares at it. "What _are_ you?"

The thing sniffs pathetically. "Willie, sir."

"Willie?"

"House elf, sir. Server of Master Albus Dumbledore."

Harry frowns harder. "House elf?"

"I must be dreaming," Teddy mumbles from the floor.

Harry ignores Teddy's breathless statement and asks the elf, "What are you doing in here?"

"Sir Remus Lupin requested Willie brought his son and guest some food. Willie is sorry for frightening Master's guests. Willie didn't mean—"

"It's okay," Harry interrupts. "It's fine. You didn't mean to frighten us. Thanks for bringing us some food."

"Master's guests don't need to thank Willie. Willie lives to serve Master Dumbledore."

Harry nods wearily. "Right. Well, still. . . Uh, thanks."

The house elf places the trembling tray down on the coffee table between the sofa's with shaking hands. 

"Can Willie get Masters guests anything else?"

"We're fine, thank you, Willie," Harry replies.

The house elf makes a sort of surprised squeak before it's popping out of existence just like it appeared.

Harry slumps down from where he was poised, frozen in a crouching position on the far end of the sofa. He lets out a heavy breath and stares at the place the house elf just was.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Teddy asks.

Harry shakes his head. "I have no idea."

"Is that. . . When did you pick that up?"

Harry looks down at the iron fire poker, his grip now lax.

"I didn't. It just. . . Appeared."

Teddy says nothing as he gets up off the floor and creeps towards the tray the elf left.

"Guessing that's another example of accidental magic."

"Least I didn't set anything on fire this time," Harry mumbles as he places it on the floor.

Teddy smiles at him but it holds no happiness, only sympathy and sadness.

"Would it have hurt dad to warn us about house elves?" He asks as he inspects the trays contents.

Harry just sighs and slumps further into the sofa. Teddy piles some of the potatoes and meat onto two plates before pouring some bright orange juice into two glasses. He sits back with his own and jerks when he tries the juice.

"What?"

"That’s not orange juice," Teddy replies, smacking his lips together. His eyebrows furrow inspectingly. "I think. . . I think it’s _pumpkin_."

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Pumpkin?"

"It’s actually really good!" Teddy cheers. "Try some!"

Harry takes a sip and nods, "It’s good."

Teddy digs into the food like a ravenous animal while Harry slumps so he’s half laying down and half sitting up, legs up on the sofa.

After a while, Teddy asks, "Y’not hungry, mate?"

Harry shakes his head, not taking his eyes off from where they’ve been staring unfocused at the far wall.

When Teddy finishes his food, he reclines back with a groan. "Man, that elf was weird but the food was damn good."

Harry chuckles weakly, "That good, huh?"

"The best thing since Derek’s mum’s Sunday roast last Easter."

"Bloody hell, _that_ good?" Harry finally laughs. "Don’t tell Eva that."

Teddy barks a laugh and sits up, sighing and rubbing his stomach.

"So, what’d you think of the castle?"

Harry shrugs a shoulder. "Didn’t really pay attention to it when we came in. Looks impressive though."

"I’ve never seen anything like this place," Teddy says dreamily. When Harry doesn’t say anything, Teddy looks over at him. "Do you want to go to bed, mate?"

Harry shakes his head. "I kind of want a cigarette."

"I’m sure we can go outside," Teddy says. "Surely other people are still up. Come on."

As they step out, the hallways are darker but glowing orange with the flickering, dancing light from the candles. The corridors are empty but not quiet, sounds echoing from all around the castle.

"Do you remember the password?" Teddy asks.

Harry smirks, "Yes. It’s Marauders."

"Just testing you."

"Of course, Teddy-kins."

They’re looking for an exit and just walking down a set of wide, stone steps when someone suddenly shouts, "Oi! You two! Stop right there!"

Harry looks to Teddy before he turns around at the bottom of the stairs. A boy in black dress robes is running down the stairs towards them, his clothes flapping like a shadowing cape. His blonde, slick hair and ivory white skin contrasts almost polar to his dark robes.

The boy is panting ever so slightly when he reaches the bottom in front of Teddy and Harry. He straightens his robes, running a hand over his hair as he looks between the two teens.

"Hey, pal," Teddy says. "What can we help you with?"

"Who are you?" The boy asks, narrowing his already sharp eyes. His face is pointy and thin.

Teddy points at himself and then Harry with his thumb. "Teddy and Harry."

The boy narrows his eyes even more so they’re almost into slits.

"Oh," he hums, tone sharp and cold. "I see. Teddy _Lupin_. I know who you are, and who your poxy father is. Dumbledore mentioned the two guests visiting the castle this week. And you must be Harry Potter."

He spits the two words of his name like they’re a bit of dirt on his tongue.

The corner of Harry’s lip tugs slightly. "And who are you?"

"Malfoy," the boy juts up his chin. "Draco Malfoy."

Harry hums. "Well, Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, any reason why you stopped us?"

"To tell you both that just because you are Professor Dumbledore’s guests does _not_ mean you are more privileged or superior. You are street rats from London, you can’t even use magic and if you think you have any power because of your parents, I will _show you_ who is more powerful."

"What the fuck is your prob—"

"Zip it, freak-show baby," Draco snaps. Harry grabs Teddy’s arm to stop him from flying at Draco. He can see and recognise the heat in his best friends eyes.

Draco looks between the two of them. "Consider yourselves warned."

And with that, he spins around and is storming off with a dramatic flutter of his robe.

"What is his problem?" Teddy snarls. "Asshole."

Harry keeps his eyes trained on the back of the rude student.

His lips curl into a smirk and he shrugs one shoulder.

"I kinda liked it."

 

_— tbc._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've literally written this entire thing on trains and buses on my phone, so if there are any mistakes or repeats or plot holes, please let me know and i can fix them!


	8. the smell of change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like all this chapter is is loads and loads of talking and dialog but it's all relevant so ENJOY!<3

****8

For as long as Harry can remember, he has had a routine. Whether it be waking up at dawn to cook for the Dursley's, or make breakfast for the children at the home, or catch a tube to an early shift at the library. Harry has always been busy. He's always had something to do, or somewhere to be, or someone to wait on. Even on the days he crashed at Teddy's, he had to get up for college or work or to make him and Ed some thank-you food.

Harry is used to having nothing, but he's not used to having no responsibilities. Here, now, he has nothing. He has a rucksack with the clothes they found abandoned over the years at Teddy's, a few books and toothbrush, and that is _it_. He has no home, he has no family, no job, no college.

He has no reason to get up, yet when dawn breaks, he hasn't even made it to bed.

Teddy wakes up to find him sitting on the window seat, overlooking the now visible field of green grass that runs alongside a huge, murky lake. Harry drags his eyes away from the view long enough to see Teddy, curled on his side, blink his eyes open and stare up at him.

"Have you slept at all?"

"Take a guess."

Teddy whines as he rolls onto his back and rubs both hands down his face.

"Harry! You need to sleep. You're going to make yourself ill if you don't."

The other teen says nothing as he looks back out the window, curling in on himself even more. He hears the sound of bedsheets rustling and then Teddy is sitting beside his feet on the window cushion. He looks upset, lips drawn down in a thin frown.

"Hey," he says softly. "You haven't slept since Sunday. Not properly."

Harry shrugs one shoulder. "I'm fine."

"You haven't slept in three days, Harry. You don't look fine."

Harry has to look away. He's a liar, learnt from a young age to hide his feelings and his emotions, but he's stripped raw and even on the best of days, he struggles to hide the way he really feels from Teddy.

"I'm fine."

A hand gently lands on his knee and squeezes.

"Alright," Teddy murmurs. "I won't ask again. Just please, try and sleep tonight?"

"I'll try."

Teddy nods, flashing him a cheeky grin and Harry knows all is good between them.

Lupin knocks on the door at eight o'clock and says breakfasts has already started.

"What’s for breakfast?" Teddy asks.

His father grins, a pleased, excited smile. "Come and see."

"I’m fine," Harry interjects. "I’m not that hungry."

Teddy rolls his eyes and grabs Harry by the wrist, pulling him up from where he’s curled in the corner of the sofa.

"If you don’t eat something, I am going to personally shove food down your throat," he says heatless-ly.

Lupin leads them down to the Great Hall and it’s not until the doors swing majestically open before them that it dawns on Harry the hall is _full_. It’s loud, reminding Harry vigorously of a chaotic school lunch hall but instead of flying food, there are floating heads. Harry is starting already to not be surprised by these things.

Teddy wolf-whistles at the sight of the glowing candle lights, the huge, majestic windows and tables so crowded with food there’s barely any room for elbows.

"Magnificent, isn’t it?"

"Where are we supposed to sit?" Teddy asks.

"There is space at the end of the Gryffindor table," Remus replies. "Don’t be scared, the students are just going to be curious that you’re here."

Lupin leads them into the hall, and Harry wonders why they really had to eat in here. Why couldn’t they eat in their room? Why were they being made to sit in a hall as if they have spotlights on them?

Harry forces himself to walk with his chin high, but he can feel his hands trembling in his pockets. He’s never been one for seeking out the centre of attention, but he hasn’t ever felt as nervous as he does now being in it. He resists the urge to look paranoid over his shoulder. He can feel eyes on the back of his head, trailing down his back, watching his every movement. He feels the tension in his neck, the goosebumps on his skin and making his hair stand up.

It almost gets too much, and he’s a moment away from turning around and assuring himself that one of the Death Eaters aren’t there when Lupin stops at the end of one of the middle tables where about 10 seats have been left vacated.

Lupin motions for Teddy and Harry to sit on the very end, and he sits as almost of a shield from the rest of the students.

Harry sits across from Teddy and Lupin and takes a moment to look around the room. The hall is everything and nothing like he expected it to be like, but he can’t deny that it’s as magical as a child’s fairytale.

The moment Harry’s butt lands on the wooden bench seat, the table in front of him is suddenly filled with food. Plates piled with everything he can think of, from sausages to bacon rashes, hash browns and eggs of every kind, oatmeal and porridge. There’s a dozen jugs of juice and water, two large platters with every fruit Harry knows and more cut up and organised.

"Woah," Teddy breathes. His eyes are wide, staring at the plates.

Harry frowns, completely befuddled. He leans back and looks under the table, trying to see where they came from, but under the table is clear apart from their legs.

Lupin chuckles at them as he starts putting food on his plate.

"Where did. . ." Harry looks around sheepishly, feeling his cheeks red slightly when he meets the eyes of a few staring students. He looks at Lupin, "Where did this come from?"

"You know that house elf in your room last night?"

"Yeah, thanks for the warning about that by the way," Harry comments.

Lupin smiles, "Sorry. Probably should have brought the food myself. Anyway, the elves work downstairs in the kitchens. They make all of this food and it appears up here for us to eat."

"Isn’t that slavery?"

"It sounds bad, but I can’t explain enough to you how it isn’t. House elves thrive to please people, to please their masters if they have one."

Harry feels his gut twist slightly. It sounds awfully like when he was at the Dursley’s, when they made him do everything and anything they wanted.

"It does sound bad," Harry murmurs.

"Please don’t worry yourself about this Harry," Lupin says softly. "I already have a sixth year who’s been making campaigns for years about the freedom of house elves. They’re looked after here, really. Dumbledore gives them all the freedom they want, but they _want_ to cook for everyone here. That’s what you need to remember, they want to do this."

Harry swallows as he looks at all the food when Teddy moans beside him.

"Holy shit," he breathes around a mouthful. "This is the best scrambled egg, _ever!"_

"Don’t let Ed hear that," Harry grins as he fills himself a cup of orange juice. He startles when he realises, as the taste hits his tongue, that it isn’t orange juice. "What is this?"

"Pumpkin juice," Lupin answers after looking closely at the jug. "Like it?"

Harry answers by drinking some more and munching half-consciously on some eggs. He looks around again, this time at the long table running along the end of the room. He recognises Dumbledore and McGonagall instantly, but feels his hands tremble when he see’s Snape frowning at him, whispering in Dumbledore’s ear.

Harry has no idea what they’re talking about, but it makes his stomach flip and the eggs threaten to reappear.

"Why are all the students wearing different colours?" Harry asks.

"They’re sitting in their houses," Lupin replies.

Teddy’s head snaps towards his father, mouth dropping open. "You mean, they’re all one family?"

"No. Merlin, no," Lupin laughs as he shakes his head. "I meant their school houses. Hogwarts are split into four houses: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff."

Teddy chuckles, "Hufflepuff?"

Lupin smiles almost adoringly. "Students are sorted into their houses their first night they get to the castle. The house they are placed in is actually incredibly important and says a lot about their character. It’s not like a random sorting, each student is placed in the house they fit in."

"Fit in?"

"Yes. Each house has their own characteristics that every wizard at Hogwarts fits into. Gryffindors are brave, Slytherins are cunning, Ravenclaws are wise, and Hufflepuffs are loyal."

"So which house is which colour?"

"Gryffindor is red and gold, Slytherin is green and silver, Ravenclaw is bronze and blue, and Hufflepuff is black and yellow."

"Where you in a house?" Teddy asks.

Lupin smiles. "Yes. I was a student here, and I was Gryffindor."

"Did mum go here too?"

"She did indeed, she was a Hufflepuff."

Teddy hums, head in his palms as he stares almost entranced at his father.

"You’re parents were Gryffindor too, Harry."

Harry feels his eyes widen. "They. . . they were Gryffindor?"

Lupin smiles and nods. "I told you they were brave, the bravest people I ever knew. There’s loads of books in the library about the Hogwarts houses if you guys wanted to learn more about them. It’s very interesting."

Harry is finishing the last of his pumpkin juice, his mind swirling about what Lupin had said: Harry hadn’t even thought about his parents. He’d almost forgotten they’d even gone to Hogwarts. He looks around at the tables, and see’s that they’re sitting on the end of the table with the Gryffindors, all the students in robes with red and gold ties. His throat feels thick when he thinks about how they could have sat at this very table, in these very seats. Harry has never been in a place where his parents have been, never been so overwhelmed with the memories of them he doesn’t have.

Harry is so enwrapped in his mind he doesn’t notice the students leaving until the hall is half empty and Teddy is asking, "Where are they all going?"

Lupin wipes his mouth with a napkin and looks around, "They’re going to their classes."

"Classes?"

"Yes, Hogwarts teaches a very large number of different magical skills and essentials."

"Are we going to be going to classes?" Teddy asks, perking up suddenly, eyes lighting up. "Are we going to be learning magic too?"

"Uh, no, you won’t be going to classes. Afraid not, kiddo," Lupin replies. Harry see’s Teddy visibly deflate at that.

"Are we going to be learning magic at all?" Harry asks. "Or do you expect us to fight that Dark Lord you’re all so afraid of with spoons and forks?"

Lupin actually smirks at the dig. "Of course you will learn, you just have to learn from the beginning. Dumbledore and myself didn’t think you’d be too keen on joining classed with a bunch of 11 year-olds, but you can’t go with the kids your ages either."

"That’s stupid," Teddy snaps, and Remus blinks in surprise. "You’re continuing to deprive us of learning when it’s going to affect our ability to fight in the war."

Lupin’s expression melts sad. "It was never mine or your mothers intentions for you be apart of this war, son."

"So you expect Harry to fight it alone? Is that it?"

"No," Lupin says slowly. "In fact, we didn’t think Harry would be fighting it at all considering he’s been deemed dead for the last five years."

Harry’s eyebrows rise slightly. "And what’s going to happen now you know I’m not?"

"You’re not going to be fighting this alone, Harry. You have got everyone on your side, I promise you. We just. . . we have to go into this logically."

"I hope you understand that literally none of this, _none_ of it at all, is logical."

Lupin smiles at Harry, "Yes, I do understand."

Teddy is practically vibrating next to Harry.

"So what is the logical way to do this? To make us wait even _longer_ to learn magic?" Teddy snaps.

"Teddy, there isn’t any rush right now—"

"No rush? You guys are practically terrified of that guy and he’s out there _right now_ and you’re saying there’s no rush? What would happen if he came here today? What would we be able to do?"

"Harry has already proven he is capable of magic telepathically—"

"Oh, well as long as Harry can defend himself," Teddy drawls sarcastically, coldly. "That’s all that matters right? Because you 'didn’t want' me to be apart of this. Well congratulations, Remus, you’ve done a fucking splendid job of that already."

Harry is slightly surprised at Teddy’s blow-up as the teen throws himself away from the table and storms out of the hall faster than a scatty cat. Harry looks to Lupin, who looks like he’s been physically slapped by his son. He looks to Harry helplessly, and Harry feels a pinch of sympathy towards the older man.

"I’ll go," Harry murmurs as he stands up and follows Teddy out. The hallways are empty apart from a few straggling students who look at Harry like a ghost as he leaves the hall and see’s a flash of Teddy’s checkered flannel disappear round the corner. Harry takes off running, his lungs aching almost the instantly his breath becomes short.

He catches up to Teddy instantly, who even if he was running full speed, isn’t faster than Harry.

"Teddy," Harry shouts. "Teddy! Man, wait up."

Teddy stops his storming walk and turns around. His face is twisted and angry, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"What, Harry?" He asks.

Harry slows to a stop and cradles his chest, breathing raspy and strained.

"You. . . what was all that about?" Harry pants.

"What was that all about?" Teddy echoes. "What do you _think_ it was about! It’s about my parents having lied to me my entire life!"

Harry sighs, "Teddy—"

"No! Don’t tell me I’m in the wrong! I damn angry, Harry! My whole life, they haven’t said a damn thing to me. They’ve lied to me about who I am, about _what_ I am and now they’re basically saying I should have been learning magic, learning about all this since I was 11 but they didn’t let me. Instead, they thought it would be smarter to throw me into London to live out in the open with no knowledge of how to defend myself!"

"I know it sucks, mate, but they were trying to protect you—"

"No, they were trying to protect themselves!" Teddy interrupts. His eyes are wild and his cheeks are blotchy and red. "They didn’t want to risk hurting themselves and in turn have given me the biggest disadvantage ever! I’m not like you, Harry! I can’t do things with my hands, I can’t defend myself against all this. I’m not going to be able to do this. What am I going to do? Defeat the darkest wizard of all time by changing my hair pink? And he’s acting like he doesn’t even care!"

"Fucking hell, stop being so _blind!_ " Harry screams suddenly, his own heart pounding. He can’t stop himself now, he’s both angry and sad at Teddy and for Teddy. "Don’t you get it? They did this because they _do_ care. They care about you so much they sacrificed watching you grow up to make sure you were safe. They didn’t do this to hurt you, Teddy, they did what they thought was the right thing to do and if it wasn’t for me you would still be safe in London none the wiser to any of this! You’re not useless, and yeah, maybe what they did in the long run wasn’t the smartest thing but after what happened to my parents they were obviously scared, they wanted to keep you safe and sending you away was the only thing that would have done that. They didn’t plan this, they planned to keep you out of the loop until the war was over and you had no chance of getting hurt.

"Don’t you get it? At least you have people who care about you, who would make decisions like that that obviously hurt them too!"

Harry feels like his heart is going to break out of his chest. He stares at Teddy, at his best friend who looks close to both crying and punching his fist through a wall.

"Fuck," Teddy swears, running a hand through his hair and leaning back bonelessly against the castle stone wall. "Fuck, Harry, I. . ."

Harry walks over to him and kicks his ankle lightly before slumping against the wall next to him.

"We don’t have it easy, huh?"

Teddy laughs breathlessly. "You can say that again."

Silence settles over them as Teddy digests what Harry said and Harry forces his heart to slow down before it gives him a heart attack.

"I’m sorry, mate. I didn’t. . . I just. . ."

"I know," Harry claps him on the shoulder and squeezes it gently. "I’m scared too, y’know. This is all new to me too."

"Yeah, but you’re the one who’s got everyone counting on him. Why am I the one throwing the tantrum?"

"Hey, you’ve got years of child-parent fights to make up for, don’t put yourself down that easy."

Teddy glares at him half-heartedly before sighing again. "I’m sorry. I must seem like such a spoiled brat sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

This time the glare is more heated.

Harry grins. "Well, I’m sorry for making it about me again. Didn’t mean to pull the dead-parent card."

"No, you’re right," Teddy shakes his head, his blue hair swaying like a hula-skirt. "I’m being a child about this. They didn’t do any of it to hurt me, and I should be grateful I’ve got them who care about me enough to change their whole lives to protect me. I’m sorry."

"Don’t apologise to me. Your dad was the one who looked like a kicked puppy when you stormed out."

"Great," Teddy sighs, rubbing his eyes. He looks at Harry sadly, "Do you think he’s mad at me?"

"Nah, no way. I might have only known your dad six days, but I’m pretty sure he’s the biggest softy ever."

Teddy smiles and looks down sheepishly. He breathes out heavily. "A lot has happened in six days."

Harry feels his stomach sink and tries not to let the burn in his eyes grow. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat.

Six days.

Six days since he was attacked and everything was revealed.

Five days since the fire.

Two days since Stan.

Harry stuffs his hands in his pockets to hide the shaking.

"Do you want to go for a cig?"

Teddy looks across at him. "I still don’t like the idea of you smoking with those lungs."

"Are you going to lecture me or smoke with me?"

Teddy rolls his eyes and nods, "Come on then."

Finding their way out is like working a maze, but eventually they find their way back to the hall and once they get beyond the large double doors, they find themselves on the steps they walked across the evening before. In day light, the castle is like a whole other vision.

"I didn’t realise how big it was," Teddy comments as they walk around the castle. The cobblestones soon turn to green banks as they follow the length of the huge, dark river circling the building.

They drop down on the grass bank and Harry pulls out his cigarettes to light when Teddy suddenly grabs him.

"What, wha—?"

"Look!"

Harry looks around, bewildered, and until Teddy points and he follows his finger.

"Are those. . .?"

"Are they _flying_?"

"On _brooms_?"

The pair look at each other, before bursting into hysterics. Harry falls backwards so he’s laying down in the grass, holding his stomach as he wheezes. Teddy is bent over his legs, tears threatening to stream down his cheeks.

"Bloody hell," Teddy cries. "This place makes me feel like I’m losing my mind."

"There are people flying around on brooms," Harry clarifies.

"Honestly, if I was more imaginative, I would be worried I was dreaming all of this."

Harry chuckles and places a cigarette between his lips. He tosses the box and a lighter at Teddy as he lips his own with his finger.

"This is insane," Teddy breathes. "It’s insane, right? I mean, wizards and witches, castles and house elves. And now flying brooms."

"I think it’s kind of ironic that the things we’ve been trying to hide, our small little secret talents, are possibly the things that are going to save the world."

Teddy looks down at Harry who’s staring up at the cloud-crowded sky.

"It’s weird that we can do those things out in the open now," Teddy muses. "I mean, it’s normal to them. You can light things on fire, I can change my hair and my nose and everything."

"I don’t think starting fires and turning your nose into a beak would be classified as 'normal', even in a castle of wizards."

Teddy laughs and looks back at where the students are flying up and down on the brooms, gliding through the sky.

"I wanna ride a broom."

"I’m sure we’ll get taught it at some point."

Teddy snorts. "Eventually, if ever. Pretty sure we’re only going to get taught defence stuff to fight the Dark Lord."

"Hey, flying on a broom is defence. Gotta escape some how."

"Very true," Teddy nods.

Harry looks up at his friend. "You shouldn’t be mad at your parents, Ted. It must have really killed them to keep you away and keep it a secret. And while you may not have had the most incredible childhood in the world, and you didn’t get to grow up with your parents, you’ve had a better one than some."

Teddy nods and sighs. He laughs softly a moment later, eyes on the half-burnt cigarette between his fingers. "Y’know, sometimes I really hate having a wise friend who can make me feel bad just by existing."

Harry gasps and jabs his finger into Teddy’s arm, letting it heat slightly until Teddy wretches away with a high, girlish cry.

"Wow, that was so manly," Harry snickers as he sits up and pushes himself to his feet. "Come on, it’s cold out here."

"Who’s the little girl now."

"Bite me," Harry says, but it comes out garbled as he coughs.

"That sounds healthy."

"As healthy as smoking with charcoaled lungs."

"Ed would throw a fit if he saw what you were doing after the weekend, y’know."

"Well, as much as I love your grandfather, it’s a good thing he’s not here."

As they walk back into the castle, Harry wonders what Ed is doing in that moment. Is he at work? Is he with Teddy’s mother? Is he even still in London? Harry is trying to block out every possible thought of London, every fragment of his mind that reverts back to that place where everything Harry owned and had was ripped away from him, but he can’t help feel his stomach tug when he thinks of Ed. They told Teddy and Harry they were putting Ed in danger by staying in London, but how safe can he really be alone?

"Teddy! Harry!"

Harry feels Teddy tense beside him when Lupin comes walking up to them. He supposes Teddy has never had a fight with his parents: they’ve never been around long enough to find anything to argue about.

"Harry, I’ve arranged for you to see Madam Pomfrey, the schools mediwitch."

Harry frowns. "Why am I seeing a nurse?"

"For your lungs," Lupin replies. "She said she’s got some potions that will clear the smoke inhalation right up. She’ll see if there is anything else as well."

Harry doesn’t soften his frown but he nods none the less. The lack of ache and cough in his chest would be nice, he supposes.

"Okay. Now?"

Lupin nods and Harry follows with Teddy beside him, who has shoved his hands in his pockets and has his head is bowed to the floor. Harry nudges his shoulder with his own, and when Teddy meets his eyes, Harry doesn’t need to say anything for Teddy to understand that he needs to talk to his father.

The ward is on a few floors up, the room large and wide, with the walls lined with white-sheeted beds and dividers. It looks old-fashioned, but Harry supposes that’s a given since the entirety of the castle feels like its been pulled out of a 1950’s picture.

"Poppy," Lupin greets the plump looking woman in victorian styled nurse robes. "This is Harry."

"Ah, Mr Potter, of course," the woman smiles. "Hello, love. Why don’t you pop yourself up on one of these beds and we’ll get this done nice and quick."

Harry sits on the closest bed to them and Teddy comes over, flashing him a smile.

"You gonna be alright, mate?"

Harry shrugs. "Would be nice to be able to breathe normally again, I guess."

Teddy looks over his shoulder at his father, who’s standing a pace away.

"Ted," Harry murmurs softly, and when his best friend looks back at him, Harry forces himself to smile. "Go and talk to him. Please, before you both lose your minds over it."

Teddy sighs and looks down.

"He’s not going to be mad, not when you explain everything."

Teddy nods and flashes Harry a smile before he does as he’s told, walking slowly towards Lupin, who smiles at him almost nervously but tenderly.

Harry can’t hear what is said, but Teddy must barely get a few words out before Lupin is shaking his head and wrapping Teddy up in a tight hug. Harry smirks to himself, feeling almost proud and pleased. His best friend is so dramatic sometimes.

Harry’s gaze is broken when Pomfrey comes over again and smiles sweetly.

"What exactly is going to happen?" Harry asks.

"Well, I am going to run a diagnostic spell, and then depending on what we find, I will most likely give you a few potions now and maybe a few to take over the next few days," Pomfrey explains.

"Do you really need to run a diagnostic spell if it’s just my lungs you’re clearing?"

Pomfrey’s smile stays soft, but it drops slightly. "Well, love, I just want to make sure that your lungs are the only thing I’m healing today."

She pulls out a long wand from her robes and looks at him like she’s trying to reassure a panicking child. "This isn’t going to hurt, I promise."

Harry tenses on instinct as she waves the wand at him, and before he knows it a piece of parchment is rolling out in front of her, levitated in the air. Harry has no idea what is happening until he see’s Pomfrey reading off the paper as it unfurls and grows.

He feels self-conscious and barely contains the need to squirm as Pomfrey reads closely off the paper, her smile dropping and her eyebrows furrowing tightly.

"E. . . everything okay?" Harry asks nervously.

Pomfrey takes a long moment to register he spoke. She looks up sharply from the parchment, almost startled, as if she forgot he was there.

"Yes," she breathes. She clears her throat suddenly, her face snapping into a smile. It doesn’t look as bright as before. "Yes. Oh, yes, of course. Everything’s fine. Your diagnostic is smoke damaged lungs, a healing wound on your left arm. . ." she trails off for a long moment. "Malnourishment, sleep deprivation. . . Mr Potter, do you mind me asking where you grew up?"

Harry feels his eyebrows shoot to his hairline.

"Excuse me? What. . . what has that got to do with smoke inhalation? I got that in a fire," Harry tries to ignore the way his voice cracks when he says 'fire', and instead tries to figure out what the hell Pomfrey is trying to find out.

"Nothing, love. Nothing to worry about, I promise," she smiles sweetly and rolls up the parchment. "Forget I asked. Right, I’m going to give you a potion now to heal your lungs and a potion I want you to take every night. Your bone and muscle growth have been stunted, so I’m going to give you a Skele-Gro potion too. I can’t do anything for your ear, but I can finish the healing on your arm if you’d like to take your jacket and jumper off."

Harry feels more than uncomfortable now, his mind reeling because Pomfrey asking about his childhood means she’s suspicious about her childhood. What did that diagnostic show her?

He shrugs off his jacket and jumper and Pomfrey steps up so she’s right beside him. She unwraps the bandage around his arm and holds her wand up to it.

"Episkey," she says firmly, and Harry feels a tingle along his skin and watches in wonder as the scab fades and the skin knits itself together until it’s smooth and unmarked.

"Holy shit," Harry breathes, unaware as he stares at his arm in amazement. He’s too busy looking at his arm and misses the way Pomfrey watches him, smiling almost sadly.

"Do you mind me asking, Mr Potter, how you feel after what happened?"

Harry looks up. "After what happened?"

"Professor Lupin explained to me what happened in London," Pomfrey say softly. "I am invested and highly protective of the students and guests in this castle, and it is my duty to make sure you are well on all levels, not just physical."

"I’m fine," Harry replies, but it sounds as fake as anything even in his own ears. He wonders, if he keeps saying he’s fine, then maybe eventually it will be true. Or at least, maybe people will start believing him and stop asking.

Pomfrey smiles sadly, and Harry wants to physically slap the look off her face. He can pinpoint the pity, the sympathy, and he _hates_ it. He doesn’t need it, he doesn’t want it. It only reminds him of what’s happened and it makes him feel like the world has been ripped out beneath his feet again.

Harry does best by blocking out what is ripping him apart, and if people are going to keep reminding him and making him face them, he knows he’s not going to be strong enough to battle them.

"Really, Madam," he says, and this time his voice doesn’t tremble and shake. It’s stable, finally. "I’m fine. Thank you for my arm."

Pomfrey nods but doesn’t push any further. Harry is just putting his jumper back on just as Teddy and Lupin come up to the bed.

"Everything okay?" Lupin asks.

Pomfrey meets his eyes and smiles tensely. "Fine. I’m going to give Harry some potions for his lungs. Could you come with me? There is something we need to discuss."

Lupin frowns but nods none the less, following Pomfrey into an office.

"What was that about?" Teddy asks.

Harry shakes his head. "No idea. Hows your dad?"

"He’s fine," Teddy smiles, "He didn’t even want me to apologise."

"See, told you, you big cry-baby."

Teddy rolls his eyes and punches Harry’s shoulder lightly.

Pomfrey comes back with Lupin carrying a potion in a glass and another in a bottle. She gives him the one in the cup and tells him to drink it quickly. Harry gags, almost bringing it back up when the taste hits the back of his throat like a burning sucker punch.

"This one I want you to take every night for the next five days. It should help with your growth and weight. It’s not a miracle worker, but it will help none the less."

Harry nods and takes the bottle. "Thank you, Madam."

"Come on, boys," Lupin says, "Dumbledore wants to speak to you both."

The headmaster is waiting for them outside when they walk out. He smiles at them the same way he’s always smiled: aged and reserved but warm.

"Headmaster," Lupin nods in greeting.

"Remus, Teddy, Harry, hello," Dumbledore replies. "Boys, I hope you are settled and comfortable enough here. I understand it must be quite a change from London."

Harry doesn’t allow himself to say that _that_ is obvious enough, and instead just nods.

"We brought you both here for your protection, but also because you both need to exercise and train your magic. I’m sure Remus has hinted that you won’t be in classes with the other students here, so instead we are going to be tutoring you privately. Harry, Professor Snape has accepted himself as your tutor, he will teach you how to control and use your magic, and also to see if you are going to be more suited a wand or if wandless magic is your suit."

"I’m going to be teaching you, Teddy," Lupin adds.

Harry watches his best friends face, and see’s the emotions flash in his eyes. He knows his best friend is excited about learning, but he can also see unease.

"Um, Professor," Harry says to Dumbledore, "I don't think that Snape guy likes me."

Lupin chuckles beside them. "Professor Snape isn't too keen on anyone, Harry. Try not to take it personally."

"Professor Snape is. . . a hard teacher to mould with, but he is the best person here to teach you," Dumbledore explains. "Unfortunately, Professor Snape is not available until the evenings when his day classes are over, and I’ve agreed with him and Remus that you won’t be starting classes until you are fully recovered from what happened in London. Can I be assured that Madam Pomfrey’s diagnostic wasn’t anything to worry about?"

"Harry’s lung are fine, but I agree that sometime to mentally heal from what happened in London is needed," Lupin replies.

"I’m fine," Harry argues.

Harry swallows thickly at the way Dumbledore looks at him. He hates it when people talk about him like he’s not there, but he doesn’t have it in him to speak up about it. London is still fresh and sore, like a raw wound. He can barely think about it, let alone talk about it or try to focus on something else. He also isn’t going to whine about these one-to-one lessons with that black-cloud Snape since he is not looking forward to starting them in the slightest.

"I’m sure you are fine, Harry," Dumbledore says slowly. "Still, Snape has agreed to postpone your lessons. Until then, you boys are free to roam the castle. There is a lot to take in, and we want you to feel as comfortable and welcome here as the students. It may take a while to get used to being surrounded by magic like you are here. I’m sure I can trust you both to not disturb any classes or students, or go anywhere you are unauthorised to. It is obviously not permitted or safe for you to leave Hogwarts grounds."

"Of course," Teddy nods. "We promise."

"Dinner begins at six in the Great Hall. Remus, if you wouldn’t mind, I believe there are somethings we need to discuss," Dumbledore says, and Lupin nods before leaving Harry and Teddy standing alone by the hospital wing doors.

The moment they round the corner, Teddy collapses against the wall with a sigh so heavily it sounds like his lungs have deflated like punctured balloons.

"We haven’t even been here a day and I’m already over it."

Harry rubs his eyes, "Mate, you got what you wanted. We’re getting classes."

"I didn’t want classes, I just want to learn magic."

"Never thought I’d hear the day Teddy Lupin wanted to learn something."

"Bugger off," Teddy chuckles, "You know exactly what I mean. Well, at least my dads teaching me, you’ve got smiling Snape."

"Don’t remind me or I’ll set your hair on fire," Harry says as they begin to walk in the opposite direction to Dumbledore and Lupin.

Teddy cackles a laugh that bounces off the stone castle walls. When Harry looks at him to glare, Teddy has made his hair turn the colour of fire, oranges and yellows and reds, the tips fading black.

"You are such a jackass."

Teddy makes an exaggerated kissing noise as he turns it back to its electric blue and skips ahead of Harry down the hall.

"That nurse fixed your lungs?"

Harry nods, unconsciously rubbing his chest. "They feel good as new."

"That’s insane. All you did was drink a bloody drink."

"Tell me about it. She healed my arm too."

"What?" Teddy’s eyes widen.

"Yep. She waved her wand and poof, it was gone. There’s not a mark, nothing."

Teddy laughs. "Oh my God. What _is_ this place."

"Hogwarts, baby," Harry smirks. "The boarding school of witchcraft and wizardry, where wrinkly house elves bring food out of nowhere and nurses have gross drinks to cure everything. Oh, and people fly on brooms."

Teddy laughs again and somehow, the sound actually makes Harry feel lighter.

The walk for wha feels like hours but can’t be anymore than half. Up and down staircases, along endless corridors and maze corners. There’s not a soul in sight, and Harry supposes thats because they’e all in classes.

They hear sound soon into their exploration, and following it down a wide corridor Harry finds the one place he hadn’t realised he’d missed.

"Ah, well, we found the place you’re going to be disappearing to for the next few months," Teddy smirks as they stand in front of the library doors. "Ready to orgasm over some books?"

Harry flips him off and grins. "Suck it, you uneducated twat."

Teddy throws his head back and barks a laugh. He hoops an arm around Harry’s shoulder and guides him towards the doors when, in a blink on an eye, a student comes scurrying out and runs straight into Harry.

Harry stumbles back with an 'oof', and the boy almost topples over from the impact, crying out, "Bloody hell, mate! Watch where you’re. . ."

He trails off when he looks at them. He brushes his fiery red hair out of his eyes and he looks at Teddy and Harry like they’re something out of a zoo.

"Bloody hell!" He gasps. "You’re Harry Potter!"

 _Brilliant_ , Harry thinks. _Here we go again_. He stares blankly and raises an eyebrow. "No shit, Sherlock. How’d you see past my cover?"

The ginger boy frowns. He looks between Teddy and Harry, confused. "Wha. . . what?"

"It’s a Muggle TV show and character, Ron. Sherlock is an investigator. It’s sarcasm," a girl comes up to the red heads - Ron’s, side. She looks to Teddy and Harry, her features are pointed and almost sophisticated when she adds, "Hello, my name is Hermione Granger, and this is my friend Ron."

"Ron Weasley," the boy corrects.

Teddy looks between the two, smiling and nods, "Teddy Lupin."

Hermione nods in reply. She looks to Harry, her eyes tracing his face. He feels like he’s being analysed as she does.

"You’re quite famous, y’know."

"I would never have guessed," Harry replies. "I think I’ve heard the name 'Potter' more times in the last 48 hours than I have in the last 16 years."

"Pardon?" She frowns.

"My legal name is Harry Evans," Harry sighs. "I suppose that’s why it took them so long to realise I wasn’t dead."

Ron seems entirely enwrapped in Harry, drinking in his every word like he’s met his hero.

"Where have you been this whole time?"He asks. "You’ve been gone for years."

Harry feels Ron’s question shoot through his chest like a shard of ice cold glass. He forces himself not to let the question freeze his insides. The silence settles too long to be natural and he can’t stop himself from saying, more bitter than he intended, "I don’t want to talk about it."

Ron’s frown tightens, his light eyebrows almost one single line on his forehead. "But—"

"Leave it be, mate," Teddy interrupts.

Ron seems to get the message, as he apologises softly and grabs Hermione by the arm before dragging her back into the library.

Harry lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

"Today seems to be becoming the day of bumping into people I don’t want to see," Harry mutters and he spins away from the library and storms down the corridor.

"Where’re you going?" Teddy asks as he jogs up to his side.

"For a cigarette," Harry huffs. "What is with these people? What’s so fucking fascinating about Harry bloody Potter."

"Maybe because you’re supposed the saviour of the wizarding world and for years, all these people had their hope stomped out because they thought you were dead," Teddy offers, and Harry snorts because, really, his best friend couldn’t have put it any better.

"Alright. I get it, Einstein. Let me moan, will you?"

Teddy chuckles and follows him outside. They sit on the grassy bank again and Harry greedily smokes through his whole smoke before Teddy has even got through half of his.

"Enjoying your clean lungs?" Teddy laughs. "That potion probably cleaned all the tar too. You got baby fresh lungs, you lucky shit."

"Not for long," Harry mutters, lighting another.

"Y’know," Teddy starts softly, gently, and Harry instantly knows something is wrong: Teddy never talks gently with Harry unless he’s approaching something sensitive. "Uh, we haven’t really talked about what happened over the weekend."

Harry exhales slowly and deeply. "There’s nothing to talk about. What happened. . . just happened."

"That’s not how it works, mate. I just. . ." Teddy sighs, rubbing his forehead. "I just want to make sure you’re okay. Like, _really_ okay."

Harry looks at his best friend and smiles. "I’m fine, Ted. Honest."

Teddy smiles sadly, "You know, whenever you say 'honest', I know you’re lying."

Harry chuckles and shakes his head. "Please, Teddy, leave it."

"Fine, you can do what you want but when you’re ready, you know I’ll be here in every way you can."

"Thanks," Harry smirks, "you soppy little shit."

Teddy rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything else. He looks out over the lake. The wind blows through both their hairs, ruffling the strands with its strong gusts.

It feels like they sit there for hours before Teddy breaks the silence and asks, "What’d you think the gang are doing right now?"

Harry looks at Teddy, eyebrows furrowing with thoughts. "Derek is probably with Stevie trying to study, but she’s probably distracting him. Shaun is probably at work because it’s Thursday and he doesn’t have college on Thursdays."

"Kyle is probably sobbing wanking right now because you’re not around to do it for him anymore," Teddy adds.

Harry tosses his burnt out cigarette and shoves Teddy as hard as he can. Teddy topples to the side with a laugh, shoving Harry back.

"You’re dead," Harry mutters as he leaps onto Teddy, draping himself on top of him completely. Teddy quickly rolls out from under him and they both go, limbs wrapped together, rolling down the green bank.

Harry shrieks when Teddy tickles his sides, legs kicking out as he squirms on the ground and shimmies away from his best friend. They’re both breathless, hearts racing and blood pumping as they lays on their backs in the grass.

Harry looks up at the sky above him. The clouds are a darker grey than before, like charcoal.

"It’s gonna rain."

"It’s not," Teddy replies. "I could sleep here."

"You’re mad. It’s far too cold."

"You’re always cold, you big wet-wipe."

Harry rolls his eyes but doesn’t object: he is always cold. As he lays in the grass, he closes his eyes and lets his mind wander back to London. Teddy had a point: what are their friends doing right now? Him and Teddy left in such a rush, on such a catastrophe of events. Are they all okay? Harry wants to know that they’re all getting on with their lives, know that they’re all going to college, to work, to the skatepark to eat chips and laugh. He thinks about Kyle, thinks about his skin and his laugh and his hands on Harry. He doesn’t want to flatter himself, but Teddy is probably right: Kyle probably is pity wanking himself off, or he’s hooking up with every girl he can talk to. Harry hopes he is, he hopes Kyle is doing everything he can to feel okay. He hopes they’re _all_ doing whatever they can to feel okay.

"Hey," Harry murmurs, "Do you reckon they have phones here?"

"Probably not. My father mentioned something about owls. I think they post everything."

"Bummer."

Teddy sits up. "Why?"

"I wanted to phone Adam," Harry sighs. "We never got to talk before I left. I never got to tell him what happened."

"I’m sure Adam knows."

"Of course he knows," Harry almost snaps. "It was an orphanage burning down in the middle of London and they’ve called it arson. It’s going to be all over the news, in the papers," He rubs his eyes roughly, they sore and tired, threatening to fill with hot tears again. "I wonder if anyone is looking for me."

Harry had told the hospitals and the police he was a friends of Stan’s, not a member of the house so as far as everyone in London is concerned, all the residents of the home are dead. Not even the college knew where he lived, all of his paperwork had fake addresses on them - something Sylvia made all the children do because she didn’t want people knocking on the door. When the home was destroyed, then all of the children names and identities would have been lost with it. The place was so 1900’s there was barely any system to it, Harry isn’t even sure how much information Sylvia had of _him_ from before he was moved into the home.

"No one is going to know who lived there unless the kids told them," Harry says aloud.

"You never spoke about the home," Teddy murmurs. "I didn’t realise it was so. . ."

Harry laughs bitterly. "Why do you think I was always crashing at yours whenever I could? I only ever went home when I felt like I was overstaying my welcome or I needed to help Stan."

Harry chokes on the name like a nail being shoved down his throat.

A hand squeezes his shoulder and Teddy softly murmurs that it’s okay, but Harry wants to _scream_ because nothing is okay, and he doesn’t know if it is going to ever be okay again.

He swallows thickly. "The home was horrible, but even Sylvia didn’t deserve to go like that. None of them did."

Harry sits up when he hears voices, and sees a trio of students walking along the grass in front of them. They all have books clutched to their chests, and Harry spots their ties being blue and wonders what makes them specifically Ravenclaw.

They stare are they walk past, the two girls muttering between them and the boy completely entranced at Teddy and Harry. When they’ve passed, they look forward and start running, as if they spooked them.

"Do you reckon we’re going to have to wear those uniforms too?" Teddy asks.

"No idea. Don’t think the robe and tie would suit you though."

"Says you," Teddy chuckles, "You’re the short ass. Yours would drag along the damn floor like a mop."

"Buggar off, at least I don’t have ankle swingers."

"Wonder if they’ve got any clothes around here that don’t look like Halloween costumes," Harry bends his legs and wraps his arms around them, idly thumbing the teared hole in his jeans.

"Yeah, we’re gonna to have to get you some more wardrobe," Teddy says. "I mean, you can always borrow my clothes but you’re gonna have to gain some weight first. You’re so tiny they’d be like a child wearing their dads clothes."

Harry snorts. "Reminds me of the time I spilt chocolate milkshake on my jeans at college and I had to wear your gym shorts home with a hair-tie around the waist to hold them up."

Teddy chuckles. "Yeah. I remember them falling down on the train home too."

"Hey! We promised to never speak of that again!"

"Promises are made to be broken, my tiny friend."

Harry laughs softly and rubs his eyes again. He can feel a headache coming along, the thrumming already pulsating slightly behind his eyes.

"What’s the time?"

"Almost six. Wanna go for dinner?"

Harry shakes his head. "Nah. I’m gonna go lay down, I’m not that hungry."

"Alright," Teddy says softly. "You know where to find me if you get hungry, okay?"

"Yeah, buddy. I’ll see you in a bit," Harry gets up and makes his way inside, the wind chilling his skin even with his jumper and coat. There are more people in the halls now, but the closer Harry gets to his and Teddy’s room they begin to lessen and lessen.

Harry is almost sure he’s lost when he walks past what almost resembles a trophy cupboard, but his interest is sparked when he see’s the word Quidditch on all of the awards.

His heart stops when he sees a name that makes everything around him fall away.

_James Potter. Seeker._

Harry stares, reads it again, twice. He doesn’t know if he’s ever going to get used to seeing his fathers name. Harry has no idea what a Seeker is, but his father was one in what Harry can only assume is a sports game. He was part of a team, part of a group and he was so good at whatever he did he was put on a trophy for it.

Harry sometimes forgets that his parents had lives. They’re only fragments of names to him, he doesn’t even know what they look like, he’s never seen a picture of them. He’s recently been told he looks like them, but that doesn’t give him any ammunition as to who they were, what they were like. Everyone says his parents were heroes, brave, fighters, but they miss out the important parts that made them human, like being a Seeker, or what house they were in at Hogwarts.

It’s the little things Harry wants to know, the small details that without them, they wouldn’t have been who they were.

"You’re father was one of the best Seekers Hogwarts have ever had."

Harry doesn’t jump in surprise as he looks to the side to see Dumbledore standing a few steps away from him, watching.

"Was it the same people?"

Dumbledore fails to hide his surprise at the question. "Son, what do you mean?"

"The people who burnt down the orphanage, were they the same people who burned down the Dursley’s home?"

Dumbledore breathes heavily through his nose, as if Harry has asked the question he has ben dreading. "There is a good chance, yes."

Harry contains his trouble and looks back at the trophies.

"Twice," he murmurs, toneless. "That makes it twice that they’ve tried to kill me and only managed to kill other people— _innocent_ people."

"It’s not your fault, Harry."

Harry just scoffs, shaking his head.

"It can’t be easy, dealing with this, I know—"

"Would it just be easier if I hand myself to him? Wouldn’t it save everyone?" Harry interrupts.

Dumbledore seems troubled by that, almost panicked that Harry would even suggest it. "As a matter of fact, Harry, I think you know that would do the exact opposite."

Harry throws his hands up in frustration, his helplessness consuming him like an overfilling skin.

"How am I meant to stop something I don’t even understand?"

Dumbledore just smiles at him.

"My dear boy, you will understand, with time."

 

_— tbc._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't had a chance to read through this and check it, so if you guys see any mistakes please mention them in the comments and i'll go back and change them.
> 
> thank you for reading xx


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